The Presence

THE mountain statelier lifts his blue-veiled head.While, drawing near, we meet him face to face.Here, as on holy ground, we softly tread;Yet, with a tender and paternal grace,He gives the wild flowers in his lap a place:They climb his sides, as fondled infants might,And wind around him, in a light embrace,Their summer drapery, pink and clinging white.Great hearts have largest room to bless the small;Strong natures give the weaker home and rest:So Christ took little children to his breast,And, with a reverence more profound, we fallIn the majestic presence that can giveTruth's simplest message: "'T is by love ye live."