Forth from his lonely seat apart, A dark-browed, Ethiopian came, As if new life had stirred the heart That beat within his manly frame. “O, give to me,” he meekly said, “A portion of that heavenly food; I too would eat the living bread, And find salvation through his blood.” The Pastor turned with wondering eyes; But when he saw the dusky brow, He answered, with a quick surprise, “Ho! bold intruder! Who art thou? The master’s table is not free To give the low-born servant place-- Such privilege can only be For his accepted sons of grace.” Upon the dusky brow there glowed A flush that was not wrath nor pride, As forward he majestic strode, And stood close by the altar-side. The broken bread his left hand spurned With sudden movement to the floor, While with his right he quickly turned The consecrated chalice o’er. One instant, for the tempest-cloud To gather on each pallid face. And then uprose the angry crowd To thrust him from the sacred place. With conscious might he raised his hand-- A being of resistless will-- And uttered the sublime command That hushed the tempest--“Peace, be still!” The waves of wrath and human pride Rolled back, without the power to harm, The angry murmurs surged and died, And lo! there was a breathless calm. The dusky brow to dazzling white Had in one fleeting instant turned, And round his head a halo bright Of heaven’s resplendent glory burned. “I do reject,” he calmly said, “These outward forms--this bread, this wine: Lo! at _my_ table _all_ are fed, Made welcome by a love divine. The high, the low, the rich, the poor, The black, the white, the bond, the free, The sinful soul, the heart impure-- Forbid them not to come to me. “Too long, too long have faithless creeds Shut out the sunshine from above, While human hearts, with human needs, Have perished from the lack of love. O, break for them truth’s living bread; Let love, like wine, unhindered flow; _Thus_ would I have the hungry fed, And let these outward emblems go.” Then from the altar-side there rose A cloud with matchless glory bright, As when, at evening’s calm repose, The sun withdraws his radiant light. But though so far removed from all, He seemed in presence to depart, The seed of living truth let fall Took root in many a thoughtful heart. THE GOOD TIME NOW.