A CHILD-BEGGAR.
Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see
How he persists to knock and wait for thee!
—Lope de Vega, Longfellow’s Translation.
There knocketh at thy door to-night
A tender little hand.
Without the portal, waiting thee,
Two feet, way-weary, stand.
So oft to-night that hand hath knocked,
So often been denied;
O wavering soul! ope thou thy house,
Bid this child-beggar bide.
Without the bitter moonlight casts
Cold glitter on the snow;
With icy fingers ‘mid the boughs
The wind wakes sounds of woe;
Unclouded is the light of stars
Filling the frosty blue;
Yet, heedless of the winter chill,
A childish voice doth sue:
“Open, dear love, and let me in,
The world without is cold;
In the warm shelter of thy heart
I pray thee me enfold.
Weary I wander forth to-night,
I knock at many a door,
I call, but seems my voice too weak
To rise the bleak wind o’er.
“A little exile here I stand,
Begging an easy grace—
Beside thy hearth this biting night
A little resting-place.”
O patient voice! O weary feet!
O soul! be thou beguiled,
Thy bolts undo, thy bars let fly,
Keep Love no more exiled.
’Tis Love that knocks and begs for love
In that soft, childish tone,
Who pleads a beggar at thy gate,
Whose right is thy heart’s throne.
Open, dear heart, and do not fear;
With him can enter in
Not any ill—nay, from his hand
Thou shalt all blessing win.
Though heaped thy house with treasure rare
Ah! do not Love deny;
He may not seek thee any more,
Scorning to-night his cry.
And do not fear that thou shalt find
A little rosy elf
With laughing eyes that look through tears
That pity but himself.
No fretful, pouting lips are his
Who waiteth at thy gate;
No querulous tone shall dim his voice
Who knocks so long and late;
His are no folded rainbow wings
Wherewith he may ensure
His safe retreat when his weak faith
No longer shall endure.
He bears no burden of barbed shafts;
A cross his quiver is,
And of a crown of thorns his brow
Beareth the cruelties;
His feet are pierced with wounds whose stain
Lies on the moonlit snow,
And in his tender baby hands
Twin blood-red roses blow.
Beneath the cross and crowning thorn
Infinite peace doth shine.
Ah! open quick. O doubting heart!
Let in this Love Divine.
Have thou no fear of heavy cross—
His shoulders bear its weight;
The thorny wreath with sharp, strong touch
Shall joy undreamed create.
These infant lips shall bless thy tears,
This tender voice give peace;
The hand that begs thy grace to-night
Shall sign thy woe’s release.
He asks so little, gives so much,
And sigheth to give more
Who, patient in the wintry world,
Stands knocking at thy door.
Hasten, my soul, let Him not wait;
Fling thy heart’s portal wide;
Bid thou this weary little Child
Fore’er with thee abide.
Kneel thou a beggar at his feet
Who begs to-night of thee;
No alteration knows this Love
Born of eternity.