 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
90
BEFORE MORNS.
Stay not at the open door:
Hear the soft pipes calling sweetly;
Bow thy head to enter meetly;
It is just the Prayers before.
Now, in secret prayer to heaven,
Set thy knees upon the floor:
Humbly wait till God has given
That He gives forevermore;
Welcome to bright youth and maiden,
To the worn and very heavy laden,
To the wounded and the sore.
To His children He comes hither;
His fair glory fills this place;
Earth-born things, earth's day will wither;
But fresh life grows in God's gifts of grace.
Hear the soft pipes calling sweetly;
Bow thy head to enter meetly;
It is just the Prayers before.
Now, in secret prayer to heaven,
Set thy knees upon the floor:
Humbly wait till God has given
That He gives forevermore;
Welcome to bright youth and maiden,
To the worn and very heavy laden,
To the wounded and the sore.
To His children He comes hither;
His fair glory fills this place;
Earth-born things, earth's day will wither;
But fresh life grows in God's gifts of grace.
He will bless thee: ask Him lowly;
Let thine heart be open wide:
But bethink thee, naught unholy,—
Lust,—dark hatred,—base sloth,—pride,—
May thy heart hold fast, or slowly,
Sadly, He will turn aside;
Thou wilt be unjustified.
Let thine heart be open wide:
91
Lust,—dark hatred,—base sloth,—pride,—
May thy heart hold fast, or slowly,
Sadly, He will turn aside;
Thou wilt be unjustified.
Has thy heart before Him bended?
Keep not to thyself, alone;
Let thy voice with these be blended:
For the world these make their moan
That God's grace may far be thrown:
And till this great hour is ended,
Count all others as thine own.
Keep not to thyself, alone;
Let thy voice with these be blended:
For the world these make their moan
That God's grace may far be thrown:
And till this great hour is ended,
Count all others as thine own.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |