James Mclain Poet Lyric

Methodists

A Chapel lives within the Chest—
No Steeple, yet it sings—
Its Hymns are stitched in Breath and Bone,
With unrecorded Strings—

The Sabbath walks on quiet Feet—
Through Kitchens—Fields—and Care—
No Bell is tolled, yet Conscience knows
The Hour that waits in Prayer—

A Discipline of gentle Fire—
Refines the mortal Clay—
Not scourge—but tender urgencies
That will not drift away—

I found my Piety in Acts—
A Cup—a Hand—a Word—
The smallest Mercy, humbly done,
Becomes the loudest heard—

To visit Grief—unheralded—
To bind the unseen Wound—
To sit beside the Failing Light
And make no pious Sound—

For Faith is not a Shouting Thing—
Nor Thunder from Above—
It moves in quiet Ordinance—
The Daily Work of Love—

And if the Soul should falter—still—
The Covenant remains—
A Thread between the Dust and God
Drawn tight through hidden Pains—

So let me be—no grand Devotee—
No Scholar robed in Flame—
But one who keeps the Narrow Path
And answers to His Name—

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Paige Hind April 15, 2026 at 11:32 PM I find my beliefs close to Methodists, but I don't say I'm all one belief. This is simply, beautiful, James. "And if the Soul should falter—still— The Covenant remains— A Thread between the Dust and God Drawn tight through hidden Pains—"