The Temple Of My Heart

I vacuumed the temple of my heart; I cleaned it everywhere.
I dusted every corner, I made it sweet and fair.
I brushed down all the cobwebs, I polished every glass.
I painted all the woodwork, so all was clean at last.
Then I opened up the door and asked the Master in,
I said "Please, enter now for I have cleaned up all my sin."
He stood and looked at me, then crossed my shampooed floor;
All at once I saw a thousand stains I had not seen before.
He stood and looked all around, then with sadness on His face
He looked again at me and said, "Friend, this is not a fit place,
Those pictures on your wall,
I surely do not like, together let us change them all."
So I took down all my pictures; I cried so many tears
For they represented memories I had cherished almost eighty years.
There were scenes of pleasures, popularity, recognition and pride,
I took them from the wall and threw them all outside.
Then the Master Artist painted a picture of golden grain:
He placed a note beneath it, the message plain and true,
The harvest is so plenteous, the labors they are so few.
He found my secret closet where I often knelt in prayer;
He placed the Glory of the Crucifiction there.
Above where my books lay He hung the beautiful picture of God's Resurrection Day.
In that secret closet were words that I had spoken, neither kind or true,
There were lots of promises I had broken, and jobs I had failed to do.
There in all the rubish lay a bent and rusty tool, one I had neglected
Shamefully, it was God's Golden Rule.
I stood there before Him and He turned as tho He would depart,
I cried, "Oh Master, will you come and clean my heart?"
Now he stays and talks with me, wish I had listened from the start;
Everything is alright now, for He is the one who cleanses
The Temple of My Heart.

by Geneva Aileen Smith

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