The City of God

New Jerusalem, which cometh down out of heaven.” — Rev. III. 12.

All the old Jerusalems go tip. The cities of this world are ambitious to beautify themselves. They have the pride of the Tower of Babel. So eager are they to ascend that the upper part of them leaves the lower behind, and there is a great gulf fixed between rich and poor. The Jerusalems of earth are ever flying from their lowly places — sending their best men into the heights where they shall escape the cry of the vulgar crowd. But it is not so with the New Jerusalem, the city of my God. This has ever a descending attitude. Its goal is toward the places from which the cities of the world wish to fly; it moves downward. It is afraid to reap a solitary privilege, a privilege not shared by all. It knows well that its high places must catch the sun; but it wants its vales to catch it too. It is anxious for the masses — those that toil and spin, those that hunger and thirst, those that work and weep. It would bring the grapes of Eshcol to the lips that are parched, the rose of Sharon to the eyes that are weary, the chariots of Israel to the feet that are lame. It would take foundling children to the arms of shelter. It would bring the leper from the tombs. It would lead blind Bartimseus from the cold streets. It would make a place for the beggar Lazarus within the gates. It would let Christ speak to the demoniac. It would give penitent Peter a new commission after his great denial. It would light a warm fire for Magdalene when she has washed the Divine feet with her tears.

Thou art descending, O city of God; I see thee coming nearer and nearer. Tongues are dead, prophecies are dying; but charity is born. Our castles rise into the air and vanish; but love is bending lower every day. Man says, *’ Let us make a tower on earth which shall reach unto heaven “; but God says, “Let us make a tower in heaven which shall reach unto earth.” O descending city, O humanitarian city, O city for the outcast and forlorn, we hail thee, we greet thee, we meet thee! All the isles wait for thee — the lives riven from the mainland — the isolated, shunted, stranded lives! They sing a new song at thy coming, and the burden of its music is this, “He hath prepared for me a city “!