The Beauty of the Spirit
“The pattern of all that he had by the Spirit, of the courts of the house of the Lord.” — z CHRON. xxviii, 12,
#HAT! could the Spirit condescend to ‘% such a gift as that? Could it stoop so low as to inspire a man with the imagination of an architect? Why not? Is not the Spirit of God the spirit of beauty? Was it not the inspirer of beauty before it became the inspirer of goodness? Did not the heavens declare its glory and the firmament show forth its handiwork ere ever it had breathed into man the breath of its Divine life? Why was there chaos before the Spirit moved if beauty be not a gift of the Spirit? Why, when the Spirit moved, did God say, ‘Let there be light,” if the vision of material glory be alien to the life divine? Say not that matter is vile, say not that beauty is sensuous, say not that the forms of earth are the antithesis of the kingdom of God. There is a room within thy heart which God has dedicated to the beautiful; thou callest it the imagination. Let the Spirit furnish that room. Let it say to this inner chamber, “Let there be light,” “‘ Let there be a firmament,” let there be herb and plant and tree. Let it hang upon the walls the brightest and fairest forms — forms too bright and fair ever to be seen below. So shalt thou know that thy imagination had its birth in heaven, that the fountain of the stream of beauty has its home above.
Spirit of Christ, Spirit of the ‘altogether lovely,” in Thee alone is realised my ideal of the beautiful. There are patterns hung up in my heart to which I can find nothing outside that answers. The light within my soul is a light that never shone on sea or land. All attempts to copy it are vain. There are spots in every sunbeam, there are thorns in every rose, there are crosses in every life. I have never seen the perfect landscape, I have never beheld the cloudless day. I have never looked upon the faultless human soul. Never till I found Thee. But Thou hast answered to the pattern in my heart, Thou hast realised the ideal in my spirit. Thou art the spotless sunbeam, Thou art the thornless rose, Thou art the cloudless day, Thou art the faultless life. My imagination cannot transcend
Thee; though I shut my eyes a hundred times, I can fancy nothing more beautiful. In the vision of Thee I have received the fulfilment of my dream; Thou hast realised my pattern for the courts of the house of the Lord.