 | Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell |  |
CHRIST AT THE DOOR.
The night had drawn her dusky veil
O'er all the landscape far and nigh,
And in the heavens the moonlight pale
Shed lustre from the solemn sky.
The world was wrapped in slumber deep,
Save where a mourner waked to weep.
O'er all the landscape far and nigh,
And in the heavens the moonlight pale
Shed lustre from the solemn sky.
The world was wrapped in slumber deep,
Save where a mourner waked to weep.
Who is it knocks at yonder door,
His face so strangely sweet and fair,
Standing and knocking evermore,
With urgent hand and tender air?
A crown of thorns is on His head;
His eyes are full of tears unshed.
His face so strangely sweet and fair,
Standing and knocking evermore,
With urgent hand and tender air?
A crown of thorns is on His head;
His eyes are full of tears unshed.
Wet are His locks with dews of night;
The eager winds blow cold and chill;
But in His eyes there burns the light
Of love that overcometh ill.
Patient, untired, He waits before
That long-closed, barred, and bolted door.
The eager winds blow cold and chill;
But in His eyes there burns the light
Of love that overcometh ill.
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That long-closed, barred, and bolted door.
The latch is rusted, and the way
Is all o'ergrown with thorns and weeds;
Dark are the panels, stained and grey,
And here the canker-worm feeds.
All so neglected and forlorn,
That one might pass it by in scorn.
Is all o'ergrown with thorns and weeds;
Dark are the panels, stained and grey,
And here the canker-worm feeds.
All so neglected and forlorn,
That one might pass it by in scorn.
It is the Saviour at the door,
Wooing the sullen soul behind,
Who in His pity doth implore
That He an entrance there may find.
“Open,” He cries, “poor soul, to Me;
I will come in and sup with thee.
Wooing the sullen soul behind,
Who in His pity doth implore
That He an entrance there may find.
“Open,” He cries, “poor soul, to Me;
I will come in and sup with thee.
“Behold, I stand, I stand and knock—
Open, dear heart, and let me in;
Wilt thou My mercy scorn and mock,
For siren laughter, lust, and sin?
Dreary the night, the dawn is late;
Ah! must I here for ever wait?
Open, dear heart, and let me in;
Wilt thou My mercy scorn and mock,
For siren laughter, lust, and sin?
Dreary the night, the dawn is late;
Ah! must I here for ever wait?
“Through days of heat, and days of cold,
Through nights all wild and dark and chill,
I stand as I have stood of old,
Seeking to overcome thy will.
Lo, here I am; I knock again;
Let not this knocking be in vain.
Through nights all wild and dark and chill,
I stand as I have stood of old,
Seeking to overcome thy will.
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Let not this knocking be in vain.
“'Tis love alone that keeps Me here,
Blessings to thee that I may bring;
Open, there is no cause for fear;
I'll make thy very heart to sing.
Receive Me as thy friend, and rest
Shall fill and flood thy weary breast.
Blessings to thee that I may bring;
Open, there is no cause for fear;
I'll make thy very heart to sing.
Receive Me as thy friend, and rest
Shall fill and flood thy weary breast.
“And then when in the days to come,
The world has passed and time is o'er,
Thou seekest entrance to My home,
And standest knocking at My door,
Then will I open unto thee,
And thou shalt ever live with Me.
The world has passed and time is o'er,
Thou seekest entrance to My home,
And standest knocking at My door,
Then will I open unto thee,
And thou shalt ever live with Me.
“A royal banquet shall be thine,
A feast of bliss that cannot cloy:
The bread of God, and heaven's own wine,
Whate'er can fill thy soul with joy.
Open, dear soul, the long-closed door,
And I am thine for evermore.”
A feast of bliss that cannot cloy:
The bread of God, and heaven's own wine,
Whate'er can fill thy soul with joy.
Open, dear soul, the long-closed door,
And I am thine for evermore.”
| Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell | |