By BRO. DAVID E. GUYTON
(From The Builder, Anamosa, Iowa, October, 1915)
We build us temples tall and grand,
With gifts we heap our altars high,
Unheeding how, on every hand,
The hungry and the naked cry.
We sound our creeds in trumpet tone,
With zeal we compass land and sea,
Unmindful of the sob and moan
Of souls that yearn for sympathy.
We hurl to hell, we bear above,
With equal ease we loose or bind,
Forgetful quite that God is Love,
And Love is large and broad and kind.
O Thou Eternal Largeness, teach
Our petty, shriveled souls to swell
Till Thou, within their ampler reach,
In every human heart may dwell;
Till Love alone becomes the creed
Of every nation, tribe and clan,
The Fatherhood of God, indeed,
The blessed Brotherhood of Man.