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Self-Worship

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Feb 19, 1914

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 91, No. 8.

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Self-Worship

By Mabel Corinne Craker

MABEL CORINNE CRAKER
Morning came with radiant splendor, Wrapped the earth in healing rays; Nature paid to God her tribute, Everything seemed filled with praise. Then I turned to seek the altar I'd erected to the One Who upholdeth all creation, Who my heart I thought had won. As I neared the place, a creature Seemed to stand before my view. She was clothed with pleasing beauty, And her graces were not few. I was charmed with her demeanor As she cast her eyes toward mine; And before I half suspected, I was kneeling at her shrine. With head bowed, I there adored her,
Her swift actions did not see; She had moved before the altar, Stepped between my God and me. Once again I met this fair one As the vespers filled the air; And disconsolate and lonely, She was weeping sadly there. She had been so sore offended, Some had failed her worth to see, And I quietly assured her She was all the world to me. Then I paused for just a moment, Tried a glimpse of Christ to see; But she'd moved before the altar, Stepped between my God and me. Some time passed. When next I met her, She encouraged thoughts unkind Of my friends, in fact, seemed jealous; To their virtues made me blind; Pride seemed fixed within her nature, Unbelief within her reigned. I resolved to leave her presence, Ne'er to venture there again. I would seek the sacred altar, Lay my sins at Jesus' feet, Freely would he there receive me, I should find forgiveness sweet. Quickly turned I to a bypath, From this traitor I'd be free; But I found her near the altar, There between my God and me. 'Twas but Self,—this horrid creature I adored, but now despise,— Full of evil and corruption, An abhorrence to my eyes. Could I crucify this monster And inter her ugly form, Naught I'd fear in all creation, Nothing could my progress harm. Weak indeed is human nature, Frail the bark in which we sail; Helpless as a bird mid tempests, When it strives against the gale. Christ alone, with power supernal, Strength imparts so full and free; When through him vain Self I conquer, Naught there'll be 'tween God and me.
Turk, Wash.