There is no glory halo
Round his devoted head,
No luster marks the sacred path
In which his footsteps tread,
Yet holiness is graven
Upon his thoughtful brow ;
And all his steps are ordered in
The light of Heaven e'en now.

He often is peculiar,
And oft misunderstood ;
And yet his power is felt by both
The evil and the good :
For he doth live in touch with Heaven –
A life of faith and prayer;
His sympathies, his hopes, his joys –
His all is centered there.

His body is God's temple,
His heart the Master's shrine,
He lives, and thinks, and speaks, and acts,
As moved by power divine.
His is the calm of Heaven –
The faith that can be still ;
For God revealeth unto him
The secrets of His will.

He is a chosen servant
Among God's many sons;
He bears His sayings on his lips,
And on His errands runs.
No human frown he feareth,
No earthly praise he seeks,
But in the dignity of Heaven
His burning message speaks.

He with delight most holy
Hangs o'er God's precious page;
There finds his path, and learns the end
Of this self-loving age.
In Jesus' sacred footprints
He long hath humbly trod;
A constant man of faith and prayer-
Such is the man of God.
I've found him in the workshop,
And in the busy street;
The plainest, simplest, humblest man
That one could wish to meet.
I've treasured up his sayings,
And marked his faithful ways;
And oft to follow in his steps
My longing spirit prays.

W. B.

Republished by request