I first became acquainted with this work in the book Against the Night: Living in the New Dark Ages, by Charles Colson, in which the excerpt below is fully printed. That book had a profound impact on my teenage views of culture and society. I’ve read this poem so many times that I have it nearly memorized.

You can read an enlightening commentary on this poem, its meaning and origin, at Lecture 21: The Ballad of the White Horse.

The Ballad of the White Horse

(Excerpt)

by G. K. Chesterton

The men of the East may spell the stars,
And times and triumphs mark,
But the men signed of the cross of Christ
Go gaily in the dark . . .

The wise men know what wicked things
Are written on the sky,
They trim sad lamps, they touch sad strings,
Hearing the heavy purple wings,
Where the forgotten seraph kings
Still plot how God shall die . . .

But you and all the kind of Christ
Are ignorant and brave,
And you have wars you hardly win
And souls you hardly save.

I tell you naught for your comfort,
Yea, naught for your desire,
Save that the sky grows darker yet
And the sea rises higher.

Night shall be thrice night over you,
And heaven an iron cope.
Do you have joy without a cause,
Yea, faith without a hope?

* * *

I know, it sounds a bit depressing. But it actually conveys a motivational message. Why do we fight? Is it for the reward of victory itself, or because our cause is itself good? Is there danger in fighting with “too much” courage — that is, presumption or carelessness? In the epic poem itself, these words prompt King Alfred to fight bravely against the odds — and win. And those are just the kinds of wins we need in our darkly clouded world.

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year,
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied, “Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!”

So I went forth and finding the Hand of God
Trod gladly into the night.
He led me towards the hills
And the breaking of day in the lone east.

So heart be still!
What need our human life to know
If God hath comprehension?

In all the dizzy strife of things
Both high and low,
God hideth his intention.

* * *

I first read this poem in a book, Against the Night, which quoted only the first four lines. Still, it quickly became a favorite of mine. I had no idea that there was more to the poem. But just those few lines were so deep and profound, they seemed complete standing alone. Later I was able to find the entire poem, as well as a little history behind it.

To me, this poem is a great reminder that the best of human vision is less than the least guidance we receive from God. At the very moment when we think we know what we are doing, and don’t need God’s guidance, we are most blind. And conversely, when we are in the greatest darkness about our present or future circumstances, but walking in hand with God, we are the most secure.

Enemy at the Gate is a hard-hitting book dealing with many of the most obvious problems afflicting the church today: diet, dress, entertainment, sexuality, and so on. It is actually the third and final part of a series, begun with Creeping Compromise and Reaping the Whirlwind. Since the concluding book was my introduction to the series, you could say I got hit full force. It really made an impression on me, and later I bought the prequels.

At the end of the book is a poem by an unknown author. I don’t know when it was written (obviously pre-1987, when the book was published; and very likely much earlier due to the old fashioned use of the word “gay”—though perhaps as fitting whichever way you read it—and other cultural cues). But regardless of its date there’s no denying its message is true today.

The Church and the World

The Church and the World walked far apart
On the changing shore of Time;
The World was singing a giddy song,
And the Church a hymn sublime.
“Come, give me your hand,” cried the merry World,
“And walk with me this way”;
But the good Church hid her snowy hands,
And solemnly answered, “Nay;
I will not give you my hand at all,
And I will not walk with you;
Your way is the way of endless death;
Your words are all untrue.”

“Nay, walk with me but a little space,”
Said the World with a kindly air;
“The road I walk is a pleasant road,
And the sun shines always there.
Your path is thorny, and rough, and rude,
And mine is broad and plain;
My road is paved with flowers and dews,
And yours with tears and pain.
The sky above me is always blue;
No want, no toil, I know;
The sky above you is always dark,
Your lot is a lot of woe.
My path, you see, is a broad, fair one,
And my gate is high and wide;
There is room enough for you and for me
To travel side by side.”

Half shyly the Church approached the World,
And gave him her hand of snow;
The old World quick 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,
And 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:
Then the pure white garments drifted away,
And the World gave in their place
Beautiful silks and shining satins,
And roses and gems and pearls,
And over her forehead her bright hair fell,
Crisped in a thousand curls.

“Your house is too plain,” said the proud old World;
“I’ll 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 house,
Splendid it was to behold;
Her sons and her beautiful daughters dwelt there,
Gleaming in purple and gold;
And fairs and shows in the halls were held,
And the World and his children were there;
And laughter and music and feasts were heard
In the place that was meant for prayer.
She had cushioned pews for the rich and great
To sit in their pomp and pride;
While the poor folk, clad in their shabby suits,
Sat meekly down outside.

The Angel of Mercy flew over the Church,
And whispered, “I know thy sin”:
Then the Church looked back with a sigh and longed
To gather her children in;
But some were off at the midnight ball,
And some were off at the play,
And some were drinking in gay saloons,
So she quietly went her way.
Then the sly World gallantly said to her:
“Your children mean no harm,
Merely indulging in innocent sports”;
So she leaned on his proffered arm
And smiled and chatted and gathered flowers
As she walked along with the World;
While millions and millions of sorrowing souls
To eternal death were hurled.

“Your preachers are all too old and plain,”
Said the World to the Church with a sneer.
“They frighten my children with dreadful tales,
Which I like not for them to hear.
They talk of brimstone and fire and pain
And the night of an endless death;
They talk of a place which may only be
Mentioned with bated breath.
I will send you some of the better stamp—
Brilliant and gay and fast—
Who will tell them that people may live as they choose
And go to heaven at last.
The Father is merciful, great, and good,
Tender and true and kind;
Do you think He would take one child to heaven,
And leave the other behind?”
So he filled her house with gay divines—
Gifted and great and learned—
And the plain old men that preached the cross
Were out of her pulpits turned.

“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 need it trouble you?
Go, take your money and buy rich robes,
And horses and carriages fine,
And pearls and jewels and dainty foods,
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 ways
That they are walking in.”
Then the Church held tightly the strings of her purse
And gracefully lowered her head,
And whispered, “I’ve given too much away;
I’ll do, sir, as you have said.”
So the poor were turned from her door in scorn,
And she drew her robes aside
As the widows went weeping on their way,
With all their needs denied.
And the sons of the World and the sons of the Church
Walked closely hand and heart,
And only the Master who knoweth all
Could tell the two apart.

Then the Church sat down at her ease, and said,
“I am rich, and with goods increased;
I have need of nothing, and naught to do
But to laugh and dance and feast.”
And the sly World heard her and laughed up his sleeve,
And mockingly said aside:
“The Church is fallen, the beautiful Church,
And her shame is her boast and pride.”
The angel drew near to the mercy-seat,
And whispered in sighs her name,
And the saints their anthems of rapture hushed,
And covered their heads in shame.

Then 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 naked, and poor, and blind,
And wretched before my face.
Unless thou repent I will cast thee out
And blot thy name from its place.
I counsel thee to buy of me
The gold that will make you rich;
And anoint your eyes with the heavenly salve
To discern your Maker’s wish.”

Then the awakened Church with deep regret
From her worldly course returned;
She opened her heart to the knock of Christ
As His love in her bosom burned.
And He gave her robes and forgave her sins,
And together they sat and supped;
His proffered throne He shared with her
For whom He had suffered much.

O Church of Christ, hear the Spirit’s voice
As He calls through the world today.
Would that every church throughout the realm
Would turn from the world away.
The world will be lost in eternal night,
But the penitent saved for aye.

* * *

The next to last verse is prophetic: We’re not there yet. Will that verse be fulfilled in our lifetime? I guess that is up to me and you.

Of course many of the best poems are set to music sooner or later, and then are no longer thought of as poetry, but as lyrics. Certainly I have been moved by many songs. I am sure poetry would get a boost in the public imagination if it could be thought of as unaccompanied lyrics.

The poems I’ve shared so far have all (?) been spiritual in nature, although there are certainly other poems that have touched me. I’m not one to believe that only religious poems are worthwhile poems. But … nevertheless … here’s another Christian poem. I found it in the book His Cross and Mine, by Meade MacGuire, which I first read back in my high school years. The author of the poem is anonymous. (Even the mighty Google could not help me find the author!)

From His Presence

All night I fled from God, along the waste
And dreary spaces of an unknown land
Where sorrow and sighing dwelt. I heard the cry
Of stormy winds behind me, and I knew
That darkly on their awful wings He rode
Whom I would fain escape. The thunder pealed
Above me, and in the thunder was the sound
As of a trumpet, speaking terrible things,
And waxing ever louder. For I had sinned,
And God was now awake, and had arisen,
And left His ancient place to deal with me.

Through the long night I fled; yet God is fleet,
And scorneth time and space. How is it that He,
Thus hastening after me, hath never laid
His grasp upon my shoulder, hurling me
Beneath His feet in death? Perchance His will
Is not to smite me from behind; He trusts
That I, being spent, must shortly turn and meet
The majesty of His offended face,
And die at sight of Him. And still I pressed
Trembling across the rough and desolate ground,
And went through swollen streams; and in the dark
Fell, and arose, and faintly struggled on.

Until at last, when night was almost done,
I heard the sorrowful thunder of the sea,
And saw the white waves breaking at my feet,
And no way of escape on either hand.
Then, death being close before and God behind,
I turned at last to meet His face. And, lo,
The storms were over, and the morning stars
Shone sweetly on the face of the One who wore
The likeness of a man, and smiled on me.
At sight of Him I cried aloud. For clear
On the fair hair which caught the dawn, I saw
A crown of knotted thorn; and on the white,
Cold feet, mysterious scars; and on His mouth
That smile, a smile for me. And I had drawn
Those wounded feet behind me through the night
Over the rough and stony ground; for still
And ever He is seeking what is lost,
And finding what had sought to hide from Him.
Ah, this was He from whom all night I fled
In trembling and despair. But at the dawn
He showed Himself thus marvelous to me,
And rose upon me, making darkness light.

* * *

The first time I read this poem I was both charmed and disappointed by the ending. The drama of the first two verses was so cool (I liked the “God of the storm” metaphor, and the almost mythical language — “darkly on their awful wings,” “left His ancient place,” “scorneth time and space,” etc. — and I somewhat identified with the unnamed protagonist). The mild ending was a bit of a let down. Still, it was awesome to think of the implications: that this powerful God pursued us out of love, and that it was easy to mistake His intentions.

Later I began to like the poem more. It reflects so much of what the Bible teaches — how God uses the “storms” of life to get our attention, but it is our divine-human Savior who turns us around and brings us home.

What Then?

by J. Whitfield Green

When the factories of our great cities
Have turned out their last finished work—
When the merchant has sold his last yard of silk
And dismissed his last tired clerk—
When the banks have rolled in their last dollar,
And paid out their last dividend—
And the Judge of the world says,
“Closed for the night” and calls for a balance—
What then?

When the choir has sung its last anthem,
And the preacher has said his last prayer—
When the organ has pealed it last echo,
And its sound has died out on the air—
When the Bible has closed on the altar,
And the pews are all empty of men—
And each soul stands facing his record,
And the Great Book is opened—
What then?

When the actor has played his last drama,
And the comic has made his last fun—
When the movie has flashed its last picture,
And the billboards displayed their last run—
When the crowds seeking pleasure have vanished,
And gone out into darkness again—
And a world that rejected its Savior
Is asked for a reason—
What then?

When the bugle dies out in the silence,
And the long marching columns are still,
When the millions of Earth are gathered
From ocean and valley and hill—
When the Day that has no tomorrow
Has come to the last, last end,
And the voice of God from the heavens
Says, “It is done”—
What then?

* * *

Although it is a somber poem—some no doubt would say depressing—it is not a poem about despair. In the Christian worldview, the future has the potential to be inestimably bright. The poem reminds us that our lives are so often spent in worldly care, in neglect of opportunities, and in vanity. If our lives could be spent doing what has lasting value, we’d have no fear or shame for the “What then?”

As I look back over my life, I see so much time wasted pursuing things that had no lasting value (many of them not inherently bad things), the foolish decisions I made, and opportunities that were missed. I haven’t entirely sorted this out—the extent to which God leaves us to figure things out on our own, versus divine revelation; the way God sometimesintends for us to miss “opportunities” that may not have been His plan. Life is complicated, and mysterious. Yet I am also sure that to a great degree my mistakes and sins have kept me from experiencing more of God’s gifts in the past.

On the happier side, I feel that God has blessed me in many ways. Sometimes I’m not even sure why I am blessed so much. I am sure that someone could make better use of the blessings I have. But I am thankful that God has seen fit to do so much with and for me.

One of my favorite doctrinal poems of all time (maybe there aren’t too many to choose from!) is this one written by Uriah Smith. It was published in the Volume 2, Number 48, issue of YD.

It’s Jewish!

When we present God’s holy Law
And arguments from Scripture draw,
Objectors say, to pick a flaw:
“It’s Jewish!”

Though at first Jehovah blessed
And sanctified His day of rest,
The same belief is still expressed:
“It’s Jewish!”

Though with Creation this rest began
And thence through all the Scriptures ran,
And Jesus said ’twas made for man—
“It’s Jewish!”

Though not with Jewish rites which passed,
But with the moral Law ’twas classed,
Which must exist while time shall last—
“It’s Jewish!”

If from the Bible we present
The Sabbath’s meaning and intent,
This answers every argument:
“It’s Jewish!”

Though the disciples Luke and Paul
Continued still this rest to call
The Sabbath day, this answers all:
“It’s Jewish!”

The Gospel Teacher’s plain expression
That sin is of the Law transgression
Seems not to make the least impression;
“It’s Jewish!”

They love the day of man’s invention,
But if Jehovah’s rest we mention
This puts an end to all contention:
“It’s Jewish!”

Oh ye who thus God’s day abuse
Simply because ’twas kept by Jews,
The Saviour, too, you must refuse—
“He’s Jewish!”

The Scriptures, then, we may expect
For the same reason you’ll reject.
For if you stop to recollect,
“They’re Jewish!”

Thus the apostles, too, must fall,
For Andrew, Peter, James, and Paul,
Thomas, Matthew, John, and all,
Were Jewish.

So to your hapless state resign
Yourself in wretchedness to pine;
Salvation surely you’ll decline—
“It’s Jewish!”

* * *

The ending is perhaps a little bold for my tastes, but nonetheless the poem certainly makes its point with acuity, seasoned with a dab of subtle humor.

Hope you enjoyed it!

This story of the unfaithful servant was the subject of our August 17 home vespers. Our leading questions for this study were: Why did the evil servant behave as he did? Is his behavior suggestive of complacent Christians today who may not, in a literal sense, beat up their fellow Christians or hang out at bars or taverns?

We had a great discussion, as usual, with many excellent points contributed by the host and others present. A couple thoughts that came to me through this study follow:

Is it possible the evil servant’s behavior arose from frustration? Often we can tolerate what we perceive as flaws, defects, and vices in others for a time. If we expect order to be restored soon, and our grievances corrected, we may choose to wait those things out. But if those corrections are long in coming, and we begin to lose faith in a speedy remedy, our patience can wear thin. We begin to think of taking matters into our own hands. Although God says, “Vengeance is mine,” we start to wonder whether we can wait for God’s intervention. Is it possible that the beating the evil servant dishes out to his fellow servants represents the conflicts and in-fighting present in the church, arising from members who are fed up with their fellow Christians’ behavior? This is especially a temptation for those who have power or influence, and who feel others must adapt to their wishes.

“Eating and drinking with the drunken” seems to represent a complete sell-out. The evil servant is so disillusioned that he forgets his accountability and honor, and surrenders to self-indulgence and careless living. Is it possible that this aspect of the story mirrors the lives of Christians today, who, tired of their strained hopes and battered faith, and no longer seeking unity with each other, then give way to worldly ambitions and sinful pleasures? They completely lose sight of their responsibilities to give others regular attention and care (see v. 45), and fall into senseless self-seeking.

Our discussion went on a long tangent as we discussed what would happen if we kept Christ’s return in focus. We talked about our goals, and walking with God. All of this reminded me of a poem I learned in high school, which I shared with them:

I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year
‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’

And he replied,
‘Go into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way!’

(This is a partial quote; you can find the complete poem here.)

The beauty of that poem lies in what is says about human plans and vision. In the poem, light and darkness do not represent truth and error, or good and evil. They represent knowledge and foresight, versus lack of knowledge. Often as we stand on the threshold of the future, we want to know exactly what will happen: Will I get this job? Will I have friends there? What fate awaits me?

We suppose that if we had answers to these questions, we could make wise plans. Yet the author of this poem realized that walking with God, and trusting His guidance, is a safer, surer path than walking in the light of our own knowledge. In fact, knowledge can actually turn into a curse if we presume to think we can use it to chart our own course; in that case, it is more blessed to be in the dark, where we are compelled to seek God’s direction. Though God often may lead us in paths that seem strange or unnecessary or even cruel, at the end we always find, or will find, some happy surprises.

I learned haiku in elementary school, where it is often introduced as a way for children to get their feet wet in poetry. I may have enountered it later in high school as well. I find haiku fascinating, in part because of the discipline required to create a beautiful (or, in this case, witty) poem within such tight constraints.

Even if you have no interest in haiku or poetry per se, you might enjoy the clever wit expressed in these short verses. For example, perhaps you can identify with the writer of this haiku:

A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.

In place of the plain old “This page cannot be found” website errors often seen, what if you were greeted with this?

The website you seek
cannot be located but
endless others exist

Some of the poems require a little inside knowledge, and may not make a lot of sense to everyone. But they’re all very clever.