Quote from Forum Archives on October 11, 2000, 7:26 pm

Posted by: jgriffiths <jgriffiths@...>

Handed to a friend August 1994.

There is a poem called 'The Church and the World'. It was written a great many years ago - a very telling poem. I think the lady who composed it must have had some revelation as to how the Church of the future would deteriorate over the coming years, as it is very relevant to the Church in these days.

THE CHURCH AND THE WORLD

The Church and the World walked far apart

On the changing shores of time;

The World was singing a giddy song,

And the Church a hymn sublime.

"Come, give me your hand", said the merry World,

"And walk with me this day".

But the pure Church hid her snow-white hand,

And solemnly answered, "Nay,

I will not give you my hand at all,

Nor will I walk with you;

Your way is the path to endless death,

And your words are all untrue".

"Just walk with me for a little way",

Said the World with a kindly air;

"The road I take is a pleasant one

And the sun shines always there.

Your path is thorny and narrow and rough -

While mine is broad and plain;

My road is paved with flowers and gems,

But yours with tears and pain.

Your path is filled with pitfalls and snares,

While mine is flow'ry and smooth;

Your lot is sad with reproach and toil,

But in circles of joy I move.

My path, you see, is a broad, fair one,

And my gate is high and wide;

There is room enough for you and me

To travel side by side".

Half shyly, the Church approached the World,

And gave him her hand of snow:

The false World grasped it, and walked along

Saying in accents low,

"Your dress is too simple to please my taste,

I will give you pearls to wear;

Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form,

And diamonds to deck your hair".

The Church looked down at her plain white robes,

And then at the dazzling World;

She blushed as she saw his handsome lip

With a smile contemptuous curled.

"I will change my dress for a costlier one",

Said the Church with a smile of grace;

So her pure white garments drifted away,

And the World gave in their place

Beautiful satins and shining silks,

And all kinds of gems and pearls,

While over her forehead her bright hair fell

Crisped in a thousand curls.

"Your house is too plain", said the proud old world"

"I will build you one like mine,

Carpets of Brussels, and curtains of lace,

And furniture ever so fine".

So he built her a costly and beautiful place,

Splendid it was to behold.

Her sons and her beautiful daughters met there,

Gleaming in purple and gold.

And maidens bewitching as sirens of old

With worldly graces and arts,

Invented all kinds of daring displays

To win the beholders' hearts.

Fairs and shows were held in its halls,

And the World and his children were there,

While laughter was heard and feasts were held

In the place that was meant for prayer.

There were cushioned pews for the rich and great

To sit in their pomp and pride,

While the poor folk dressed in shabby clothes

Sat meekly down outside.

The Angel of Mercy flew over the Church,

And whispered, "I know thy sin".

The Church looked back with a sigh, and longed

To gather her children in.

But some were out at the midnight ball,

And some were off at the play,

And some were drinking in noisy saloons,

And the angel went away.

The sly World said in soothing tones,

"Your children mean no harm -

Merely indulging in innocent fun".

So she leaned on his proffered arm,

And smiled, and chatted, and gathered flowers

As she walked along with the world,

While countless millions of precious souls

To the pit of Hell were hurled.

"Your preachers are all too old and plain",

Said the world with a mocking sneer;

"They frighten my children with dreadful tales

Which I do not like them to hear.

They talk of brimstone and fire and pain,

And the horrors of endless night.

They speak of a place which should never be

Mentioned to ears polite.

I will send you some of a better stamp -

Brilliant and clever and fast

Who will tell them that people may live as they like

And still go to Heaven at last.

The Father is merciful, gracious and good,

Tender and true and kind;

Do you think He would take one child to Heaven

And leave the rest behind?"

So she called for young and modern divines -

The gifted, the great and the learned,

while the good old men who preached the Cross

Were out of her pulpits turned.

Then Mammon came in and supported the Church

And rented a prominent pew;

And people thronged in to be entertained,

Proclaiming a period new.

"You give too much to the poor", said the World -

Far more than you ought to do;

If the poor need shelter and food and clothes,

Why should it trouble you?

Go - take your money and buy rich robes,

And all sorts of vehicles fine;

Get pearls and jewels and dainty food,

And the rarest and costliest wine.

My children - they dote on all such things,

And if you their love would win

You must do as they do, and walk in the way

That they are walking in".

So the Church held tightly the strings of her purse,

And gracefully lowered her head,

Saying, "I've given too much away -

I'll do sir, as you have said".

So the poor were turned from her doors in scorn,

And she heard not the orphan's cry,

And she drew her beautiful robes aside

As the widows went weeping by.

Her Mission treasuries empty stood,

And Jesus' commands were in vain,

While countless millions for whom He died

Had not even heard His Name.

Her witnessing power - alas - was lost,

And the perilous times came in,

The time of the end - so often foretold,

Of form and pleasure and sin.

And they of the Church and they of the World,

Walked closely hand and heart,

And none but the Master Who knoweth all,

Could discern the two apart.

Then the Church sat down at her ease and said,

"I am rich and in goods increased;

I have need of nothing, and naught to do

But to laugh and dance and feast".

The sly World heard her and laughed up his sleeve,

And mockingly said aside,

"The Church has fallen - the beautiful Church -

And her shame is her boast and pride!"

Then the Angel drew near to the Mercy-seat,

And whispered - with sighs - her name,

While the angels their anthems of rapture ceased,

And covered their heads in shame.

And a Voice came down through the hush of Heaven

From Him Who sat on the throne -

"I know thy works and how thou hast said,

'I am rich', and hast not known

That thou art poor and naked and. blind,

With pride and pleasure enthralled;

The beautiful Bride of the Heavenly Groom

Is the harlot of the World!

Thou hast ceased to watch for that blessed hope,

And have fallen from zeal and grace

I must cast thee out from My Presence, alas!

And blot thy name from its place".

Poem by Matilda Edwards.