Trees, and Other Poems

Citizen of the World

     No longer of Him be it said
     "He hath no place to lay His head."

     In every land a constant lamp
     Flames by His small and mighty camp.

     There is no strange and distant place
     That is not gladdened by His face.

     And every nation kneels to hail
     The Splendour shining through Its veil.

     Cloistered beside the shouting street,
     Silent, He calls me to His feet.

     Imprisoned for His love of me
     He makes my spirit greatly free.

     And through my lips that uttered sin
     The King of Glory enters in.