Poems (Hoffman)/Who Is He?
Appearance
WHO IS HE?
Who is He of whom they tell me,
Who this Christ of whom they say
He was born in Bethlehem's manger
And He lives in Heaven to-day?
That His life taught noble doctrines
That should influence yours and mine;
O, so wonderfully human,
Good and true, but not divine!
Who this Christ of whom they say
He was born in Bethlehem's manger
And He lives in Heaven to-day?
That His life taught noble doctrines
That should influence yours and mine;
O, so wonderfully human,
Good and true, but not divine!
I am saddened by the story,
Wheresoe'er I hear it told;
O the ring of worthless metal,
Counterfeiting Heaven's pure gold!
O, this Christ of skeptic science!
Not what He professed to be—
Yet a human moral teacher,
Lifted up for you and me.
Wheresoe'er I hear it told;
O the ring of worthless metal,
Counterfeiting Heaven's pure gold!
O, this Christ of skeptic science!
Not what He professed to be—
Yet a human moral teacher,
Lifted up for you and me.
I would turn away disheartened,
Sick and weary of the theme;
As their little ones are turning,
Who have dreamed this dreadful dream.
But so sweetly through the storm cry,
As to Peter on the sea,
Comes that voice divine, that speaketh
From the life of Christ to me.
Sick and weary of the theme;
As their little ones are turning,
Who have dreamed this dreadful dream.
But so sweetly through the storm cry,
As to Peter on the sea,
Comes that voice divine, that speaketh
From the life of Christ to me.
More than man—though grandly human;
More than God to fallen man
Who was lost, and wrecked, and ruined,
With no Christ in Heaven's plan.
Pause—before you rend the glory
Of God's Holy Word apart;
Read from Christ's own words the story
Falling on the human heart.
Stay the hand that reaches blindly
Where His sacred truths are found,
To tear down for cobweb fictions—
Holy, holy is the ground!
More than God to fallen man
Who was lost, and wrecked, and ruined,
With no Christ in Heaven's plan.
Pause—before you rend the glory
Of God's Holy Word apart;
Read from Christ's own words the story
Falling on the human heart.
Stay the hand that reaches blindly
Where His sacred truths are found,
To tear down for cobweb fictions—
Holy, holy is the ground!