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The Prisoner of Love

By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams)
  
  

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67

February 28 KNOCKING

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”—Rev. iii. 20.

Thou comest to me like a thief,
Thou comest in the hush of night,
To rob my soul of sapping grief
And rest me with a pure relief—
To give me something more than sight;
O glorious Eavesdropper, Thou art
Behind the door of every heart.
I would not banish from its throne
Thy Presence, which is all my power,
Nor take instead an earthlier tone
Where Thou must reign and rule alone—
I dare not hold Thee from Thy dower;
But, Saviour, when Thou knockest, give
This dying love the strength to live.
And ere I open let me sweep
Each chamber ready for its King,
Meet for a Guardian who will keep
My foolish mind from sluggard sleep,
And strew the floors with flowers of spring;
Thou, who didst purge the temple clean,
Think not my little house too mean.

68

Knock gently, that I may not fear
To know Thou art so very nigh;
So every sense will be an ear,
And all my heart awaking hear—
Attuned to Thee, and raised as high;
Then hide me in Thy Greatness, Lord,
Although it slay me like a sword.