The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-06-09
GERALD MASSEY'S UNIvERSALISM
(FRoM 1.-THE TALE OF ETERN1TY.'D

tFhOM THE TALE OF ETERNITY.
From end to end of things we may not see,
To square the circle of Eternity;
But cannot believe in endless hell
And heaven side by side. How could dwell
Among the saved for thinking of the lost2
With such lot the BEST would suffer most,
Sitting at last all in Golden Home,
That lowered over dungeon CRATES of doom,
My heart would ACHE for all the lost that go
To wall and weep in everlasting woe;
Through all the music must hear the moan,
Too sharp for all the harps of Heaven to
drown,
l cannot think of Life apart from Him
Who is the life from cell to Seraphim;
And of He'll flame unquenchable, must be
The life of He'll to all Eternityl
From Him the strength immortal must be sent
By which the soul could bear the punishment
] think Heaven VIII not shut forevermore.
Without knocker left upon the door,
Lest some belated Wanderer should come
Heart broken asking just to die at home,
So that the Father will at last forgive,
And looking on His face that soul shall live.
/ think there viii be watchmen through the
night,
Lest any, far off, turn them to the light;
That He who loved us into life must be
A Father infinitely fatherly.
We model from the human life, and SO
Feature the future from the face we know.
IT'S always sunless one side our globe,
And thus we fashion the Eternals robe.
God made man in, His iu1aua hIt Our r1Iop,a
To mould and make God s image in the man s..
And if my thought be human like the rest,
AT least the likeness shall be mans at best.
Our Science grasps with its transforming
hand;
Makes real half the tales of wonder and
We turn the deathliest fetor to perfume;
We give decay new life and rosy bloom;
Change filthy rags to paper virgin white;
Make pure in spirit what was foul to sight.
Even dead, recoiling force to fairy gift
Of help is turned, and taught to deftly lift.
How can we think God hath no crucible
Save That Black Country of a burning He'll?
Or the great ocean of Almighty power
No scope to take the life-stream from our
shore.
Muddy and dark, and make it pure once more?
Dear God, it seems to me that Love must be
The Missionary of Eternity
Must still find work in worlds beyond the
grave.
So long as there's single soul to save;
Must from the highest Heaven yearn to tell
Thy Message; be the Christ to some dark hell;
That all divergent lines at length will meet
To make the clasping round of Love complete;
The rift twixt sense and spirit will be healed
Ere the Redeemer's work be crowned and
sealed;
Evil shall die like dung about the root
OF good, or climb converted into fruit
That Thou hast pc wer to work out every STAIN
That purifying is the end of pain;
And, waking, we shall know what we but
dream
Dimly, that punishment is to redeem;
And here or there, the penitent thrill must
leaven
The earthiest soul and wing it toward Heaven ;
That when the Angel-Reapers shall up-sheave
The harvest, AngelGleaners will not leave
One least small grain of good-and there are
none
So evil but some precious germ lives on
The grimiest gutter crawling by the way
Still hath its reflex of the face of day.