January 13
OUR CLOSED DOOR
“And thou shalt set bounds unto the people round about.”—
Exod. xix. 12.
Some day these feet shall tread Thy temple floor,
Master, though now no glory shine on me—
Content to wait for Thee;
I thank Thee for the shutting of the door;
It is my sweetest ointment
Thy balm of disappointment,
And without this I were exceeding poor.
Grey clouds roll through the heavens their ragged drift,
And hide from me the little gleam of blue,
A glimpse of splendour true;
I thank Thee for the veiling of the rift;
For when the gateway closes
We find the fairest roses,
Denial is Thy best and greatest gift.
Not here for me Thy royal robe and kiss,
Nor feast, nor gracious garland to be worn,
Unless it be of scorn;
I thank Thee for the blotting out of bliss;
The palms and crowns for others
And give the flowers to brothers
But keep for me Thy grandest crown of thorn.
Not for my foot the freedom of the moor
And mountain, while it carries still the stain—
But some dear sufferer's chain;
I thank Thee for the darkening of the door;
Without Thy lovelier losses
And milestones that are crosses,
Could I be as my Master who was poor?
