 | Poems |  |
41
WITHIN.
Open the door, dear heart, and see
What lies beyond its lock and key:
Within the house, when thou art come,
Sit down and rest, for here is home.
What if it be a little place!
Its furnishings are gifts of grace,
Not on the wall or on the floor,
But filling it for evermore;
For here is Peace, with lilies white,
That shed their perfume day and night;
In moon or starlight, storm or sun,
Her ministry is never done.
As in some lone and quiet cave,
Whose base eternal oceans lave,
The castaway forgets the roar
That beats upon the cruel shore,
And breathes alone the odorous breath
Of that wild sea that threatened death;—
So sleep, while Peace keeps watch and ward,
The threshold of thy home to guard.
What lies beyond its lock and key:
Within the house, when thou art come,
Sit down and rest, for here is home.
What if it be a little place!
Its furnishings are gifts of grace,
Not on the wall or on the floor,
But filling it for evermore;
For here is Peace, with lilies white,
That shed their perfume day and night;
In moon or starlight, storm or sun,
Her ministry is never done.
As in some lone and quiet cave,
Whose base eternal oceans lave,
The castaway forgets the roar
That beats upon the cruel shore,
And breathes alone the odorous breath
Of that wild sea that threatened death;—
So sleep, while Peace keeps watch and ward,
The threshold of thy home to guard.
Here Love abideth every day.
Wingless, he cannot fly away.
The little god we used to know,
With stinging arrows in his bow,
And pinions fluttering in the sun,
Sulks out of sight, his mischief done.
For here a calmer angel dwells,
Whose song a sweeter story tells;
Whose tender lips can smile or sigh
As cloud or sunshine wanders by.
If guilt or sorrow, want or shame,
Assail thy life or dim thy name,
Here all these troubles are unknown,
For here remaineth Love alone,
Intent to rescue and to bless
In every tempest of distress.
Awake to hear thy faintest sigh,
To watch the tell-tale in thine eye,
To fold thee safe in such repose
As only Love's beloved knows;
To die—ah, far more dread! to live,
So long as life can blessing give.
Wingless, he cannot fly away.
The little god we used to know,
With stinging arrows in his bow,
42
Sulks out of sight, his mischief done.
For here a calmer angel dwells,
Whose song a sweeter story tells;
Whose tender lips can smile or sigh
As cloud or sunshine wanders by.
If guilt or sorrow, want or shame,
Assail thy life or dim thy name,
Here all these troubles are unknown,
For here remaineth Love alone,
Intent to rescue and to bless
In every tempest of distress.
Awake to hear thy faintest sigh,
To watch the tell-tale in thine eye,
To fold thee safe in such repose
As only Love's beloved knows;
To die—ah, far more dread! to live,
So long as life can blessing give.
Here Patience, like a Quaker maid,
Sits in her sober garb arrayed.
Where she abides no bitter word,
No cold and cruel taunt is heard:
The soft lips utter softer speech,
Her voice the troubled soul can reach,
And feed its hunger fierce and wild,
As some sweet mother feeds her child.
The hurried misery of to-day
With slow caress she charms away;
The dread of what to-morrow brings
She hushes under brooding wings;
Her silent prayer, like fragrant balm,
On fevered spirits pours its calm;
Her lingering kisses still the brain,
And bring its vernal strength again.
A daily blessing, like the air
That comes without our thought or prayer.
Rest! while her gracious dews shall shed
Their benediction on thy head.
Sits in her sober garb arrayed.
Where she abides no bitter word,
No cold and cruel taunt is heard:
The soft lips utter softer speech,
Her voice the troubled soul can reach,
And feed its hunger fierce and wild,
As some sweet mother feeds her child.
The hurried misery of to-day
With slow caress she charms away;
43
She hushes under brooding wings;
Her silent prayer, like fragrant balm,
On fevered spirits pours its calm;
Her lingering kisses still the brain,
And bring its vernal strength again.
A daily blessing, like the air
That comes without our thought or prayer.
Rest! while her gracious dews shall shed
Their benediction on thy head.
Not every palace holds the three
That keep thy quiet home for thee;
Not every hut or humble cell
Affords a place for these to dwell.
In sadness long they slowly grew
Like plants of rosemary and rue,
Those herbs of grace that know no bloom,
But flourish oftenest by a tomb.
But if they come to live with thee,
Dear heart, entreat them tenderly!
Affright them not with faithlessness,
Thy worldly longings all repress,
Pine not for power nor treasures more,
Nor yet an adverse fate deplore:
For he to whom the Lord hath lent
These visitants must have content,
The clasping grace to hold them fast
'Gainst any outer tempest blast;
Nor entertain as unaware
The angels who his dwelling share.
Make such a gracious atmosphere,
That all thy guests shall linger here,
Till to thy house at length shall come
The message of a dearer home,
And summon thee with this sweet word,
“Come in, thou blessed of the Lord!”
That keep thy quiet home for thee;
Not every hut or humble cell
Affords a place for these to dwell.
In sadness long they slowly grew
Like plants of rosemary and rue,
Those herbs of grace that know no bloom,
But flourish oftenest by a tomb.
But if they come to live with thee,
Dear heart, entreat them tenderly!
Affright them not with faithlessness,
Thy worldly longings all repress,
Pine not for power nor treasures more,
Nor yet an adverse fate deplore:
For he to whom the Lord hath lent
These visitants must have content,
The clasping grace to hold them fast
'Gainst any outer tempest blast;
44
The angels who his dwelling share.
Make such a gracious atmosphere,
That all thy guests shall linger here,
Till to thy house at length shall come
The message of a dearer home,
And summon thee with this sweet word,
“Come in, thou blessed of the Lord!”
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