By Ronnie W. Wolfe - July 15, 2014
In the not too far a distance points a steeple to the sky.
Cold with baldest beauty and pretends to tell us why
Our hearts are overtaken with the troubles of this life,
And our world is taken over by each war and endless strife.
The steeple points to heaven where the stars are there at play,
But it points also to heaven where God lives in endless day.
It points from men beneath it reminding us to pray
And stay in constant praying from morn till end of day.
Its sturdy form reminds us of the kingdom of God’s Son
In its whiteness due completely to the work that He has done,
For the baldness of the tower so stately standing by
Cannot bring the true salvation to a soul that is to die.
The steeple points to heaven where the saints will one day live
Because of Jesus’ dying on his cross, his life to give.
He died upon the cross; His sheep he’ll surely save
And bring the sleeping saints to his side out from the grave.
Now, you and I, we all just know a steeple has no meaning;
It is a human icon so majestic in its gleaming.
But somehow with my emotions, with my countryfied upbringing,
I love to see the steeple in the clouds so brightly beaming.
And truly, if I want to see a picture of my Lord,
I’ll read his book and fellowship with Jesus in his word.
Then with a smile I’ll wonder as I stare in wondered awe
At the cold, white, static steeple: it is a steeple, that is all.