THE SKY PILOT
Oh, that I had in the wilderness a lodging place of wayfaring men.—Jeremiah IX:2.
By the wall of the busy city,
In the midst of the market place,
Ye have lifted on high a temple,
Ye have builded a house of grace.
Amber and red the windows,
Marble and tile the floor—
But I weep for a thousand pilgrims far
Who never have seen the door.
Gorgeous the gilded altar,
Pleasant the cushioned pew,
Thrilling the chorused music
Ringing the cloister through,
Wonderful thing the sermon,
Grilling the creeds absurd—
But I weep for a thousand woodsmen strong
Who never have known the Word.
Build me no mighty temple,
Build me no jeweled shrine—
Build me a house of worship
Under the solemn pine.
I’ll speak from a rough-hewn pulpit
To men of a rough-hewn race;
And, with God’s great help, I will bring them yet
With the Master face to face!