The thing—
the only thing;
this one thing—only—matters:faith expressed in love;
it is love-expressing-faith—it is the thing that doesn’t betray;
it alone will never wash away.What matters now—
what mattered then;
what matters when—
what will matter then?Nothing—
but this—
matters otherwise;nothing else matters wise—
compromise despises truth.The Preacher—Ecclesiastes—
has told no lies:Christ is risen with piercing eyes;
in vain are not my bodily cries.
This matter—
this stuff—
it matters much.Love is not love if faith is not such—
faith is not faith if love retires.It matters that every thing but Jesus lies—
every single small thing dies;
and only things in Him will rise.And what then—
is there—
to matter besides?What does it matter—
besides bodily life?It matters not if no one reads this poem;
nor if ever my years of heartache show;or if any small gain comes of this pain—
it matters not if no one knows my name.My mind chatters—
and rewinds with hindsight;
and finds my Lord—
gentle and kind:“What matters?”
His Word alone replies;
I hear His Spirit remind—
His coming will end my cries.My love-filling faith is laid aground;
it is sown in knowing it cannot be drowned—though loss will flood every little thing—
it is found;
it is aboard the ark—in being known by Him;
in whom I am—I know my faith is safe;
and every tiny thing I do—
it is being saved in place.
