The Empty

A Mohommedan once said to a missionary:
"We have our Prophet's tomb to show,
but you have nothing."

Earth's Meccas and the faiths of men
Hold but a corpse within a tomb;
Each weary pilgrim's journey ends
At some sad shrine of grief and gloom.

Earth's prophets rest, in silence wrapped,
Dust in the dust from whence they came;
By Death's chill wind their torches quenched,
No more to kindle into flame.

Earth's priests in solemn splendor sleep,
Ashes to ashes, robed and stoled;
Their chanted prayers forever hushed,
Their altar fires forever cold.

Earth's kings in state and glory lie,
In crypts of porphyry encased;
Their names and deeds, in marble carved,
Time's blurring touch has half erased.

No mausoleum built by man
Entombs our Prophet, Priest and King;
Our love no pilgrimage need make,
No fading votive garlands bring.

No death could kill, no guard could keep,
No seal could stay, no grave could hold
Immortal Life in mortal clay;
No darkness could the Light enfold.

Our Prophet's word shall come to pass,
Our Priest is interceding still;
Our King shall reign forevermore,
While heaven and earth shall do his will.

"No grave to show"? This is the stone
On which the temples of our faith
Rise higher than the mosques of Ind;
Our Living Lord has conquered Death!

Annie Johnson Flint

Revelation 1:18 I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death.

Hebrews 10:12 But this man, after he had offered one sacrifice for sins for ever, sat down on the right hand of God; 13 From henceforth expecting till his enemies be made his footstool. 14 For by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.









updated 2019; CA