Phil. i. 21.
"To me to live is
Christ," and yet the days
Are
days of toiling men;
We rise at morn,
and tread the beaten ways,
And
lay us down again.
How is it that this
base, unsightly life
Can
yet be Christ alone?
Our common need,
and weariness, and strife,
While
common days wear on?
Then saw I how
before a Master wise
A
shapeless stone was set;
He said, "Therein a
form of beauty lies
Though
none behold it yet."
"When all beside it
shall be hewn away,
That
glorious shape shall stand,
In beauty of the
everlasting day,
Of
the unsullied land."
Thus is it with the
homely life around,
There
hidden, Christ abides;
Still by the single
eye for ever found
That
seeketh none besides.
When hewn and
shaped till self no more is found,
Self,
ended at Thy Cross;
The precious freed
from all the vile around,
No
gain, but blessed loss,
Then Christ alone
remains--the former things
For
ever passed away;
And unto Him the
heart in gladness sings
All
through the weary day.
H. Suso.
