IT MAY BE IN THE EVENING.
"It may be in the evening,
When the work of the day is done,
And you have time to sit in the twilight
And watch the sinking sun,
While the long bright day dies slowly
Over the sea,
And the hour grows quiet and holy
With thoughts of Me,
While you hear the village children
Passing along the street
Among those thronging footsteps
May come the sound of My Feet:
Therefore I tell you, Watch!
By the light of the evening star,
When the room is growing dusky
As the clouds afar;
Let the door be on the latch
In your home,
For it may be through the gloaming
I will come.
"It may be when the midnight
Is heavy upon the land,
And the black waves lying humbly
Along the sand;
When the moonless night draws close,
And the lights are out in the house;
When the fires burn low and red,
And the watch is ticking loudly
Beside the bed:
Though you sleep, tired out on your couch,
Still your heart must wake and watch
In the dark room,
For it may be that at midnight
I will come.
"It may be at the cock-crow,
When the night is dying slowly
In the sky,
And the sea looks calm and holy,
Waiting for the dawn of the golden sun
Which draweth nigh;
When the mists are on the valleys, shading
The rivers chill,
And my morning star is fading, fading
Over the hill:
Behold, I say unto you, Watch!
Let the door be on the latch:
In your home:
In the chill before the dawning,
Between the night and morning
I may come.
"It may be in the morning,
When the sun is bright and strong,
And the dew is glittering sharply
Over the little lawn;
When the waves are laughing loudly
Along the shore,
And the little birds are singing sweetly
About the door.
With the long day's work before you,
You rise up with the sun,
And the neighbors come in to talk a little,
Of all that must be done;
But remember that I may be the next
To come in at the door,
To call you from all your busy work
For evermore:
As you work your heart must watch,
For the door is on the latch
In your room,
And it may be in the morning
I will come."
So He passed down my cottage garden,
By the path that leads to the sea,
Till he came to the turn of the little road,
Where the birch and laburnum tree
Lean over and arch the way.
There I saw him a moment stay,
And turn once more to me,
As I wept at the cottage door,
And lift up His hands in blessing—
Then I saw His face no more.
And I stood still in the door-way
Leaning against the wall,
Not heeding the fair white roses,
Though I crushed them, and let them fall,
Only looking down the pathway,
And looking towards the sea,
And wondering, and wondering
When He would come back for me,
Till I was aware of an angel
Who was going swiftly by,
With the gladness of one who goeth
In the light of God most high
He passed the end of the cottage
Towards the garden gate,—
(I suppose He was come down
At the setting of the sun,
To comfort some one in the village
Whose dwelling was desolate,)
And He passed before the door
Beside my place,
And the likeness of a smile
Was on His face:—
"Weep not," He said, "for unto you is given,
To watch for the coming of His feet,
Who is the glory of our blessed Heaven:
The work and watching will be very sweet
Even in an earthly home,
And in such an hour as ye think not
He will come."
So I am watching quietly
Every day;
Whenever the sun shines brightly
I rise and say,—
Surely it is the shining of His face!
And look unto the gates of His high place,
Beyond the sea,
For I know He is coming shortly
To summon me.
And when a shadow falls across the window
Of my room,
Where I am working my appointed task,
I lift my head to watch the door, and ask
If He is come;
And the angel answers sweetly
In my home,—
"Only a few more shadows,
And He will come."
—Unidentified.