When stepping from a curbstone on a starry night,
My vision fell upon a strange yet beauteous sight;
Beneath my feet there lay, left by a passing flood,
A most repulsive-looking heap of mud.
I stood a moment, gazing, ere I crossed the road,
For in the puddle, lo! a glorious body glowed;
‘Twas Jupiter! the star that from the heavenly height,
Shone with unwonted luster on that winter’s night,
And chose the puddle upon which I stood to gaze;
(A most repulsive puddle) to reflect his rays!
How bright he glowed! that chief of heaven’s starry stud,
Imparting dignity unto that heap of mud.
I journeyed on and heart and thoughts fell in a train,
How I like that same puddle in the streets had lain
So long, splashing and spotting all the passers by,
Revolting! till one blissful hour I caught His eye—
(A shapeless mass from whom good men would surely flee),
The Lord of life and glory looking down on me!
On me! a very heap of mud, without, within,
A hideous object for the eye—a mass of sin,
A loathsome puddle, yea, that from the sewer burst;
Containing in myself of things the very worst;
And yet He paused; and gave me such a loving look;
Ah! had I been the purest water from the brook,
I could have understood it; thought the look most meet,
But no! He looked on me, the very sweepings of the street,
On me that loving, penetrating eye directed,
He looked, and looked, until He saw Himself reflected.
Dear gracious Lord, Thou know’st I do not mind how low
I lie—and be a puddle still—if Thou wilt glow
With Thy pure glory in my heart that men may trace
That all the glowing in me is the fruit of grace.
Myself by nature—yes, Lord, they may surely shun,
But if they see in me the glory of the One
Whose beams throughout the heaven of heavens forever flood,
Might much desire to be that little heap of mud!
Which Satan would himself have swept because impure,
With loathsome horror to his own eternal sewer;
But, Lord, on me Thine eye Thou wilt not fail to keep,
Till Thou shalt come again, and with Thy glory sweep
Right up to heaven the many little heaps of mud away—
Some large, some less, but each reflecting Thy bright ray;
Transforming them into Thine image by Thy power,
The glorious climax—and the consummation hour.
Thou hast decreed it as Thine own peculiar duty,
The reflex of Thy love, Thy glory, and Thy beauty!
Forever will I praise Thee, as redeemed by blood,
For having looked upon this little heap of mud.
ML 05/14/1961