A FORGIVENESS
A pilgrim long devout arrived at last
Before the Gate of Paradise, and cast
His staff aside triumphantly to press
Within the dreamed-of goal. But strange to say,
It did not open to his eagerness
As knocking he solicited the way.
“Nay,” said the Guardian Angel of the Gate,
“The proof of thy assurance I await,
The sesame and heavenliest word
That passes here! Three trials shalt thou have,
And if thou hast not found it by the third
No privilege to enter canst thou crave.”
So sure the Pilgrim was the truest right
Must be the one of evangelic might
He quickly answered “LOVE!”
The Angel’s wing
Drooped o’er his countenance as he replied,
“Nay, such a plea might any sinner bring
Like any saint whose zeal is undenied.
“Canst thou not to the name come closer yet
Of Goodness’ greatest key?”
The Pilgrim let
His thoughts go outward in a second quest
And slowly made response, “Why, then, ’tis GRACE,
The covenant and seal of all the rest,
The chain whose lock is Love.”
The Angel’s face
Was still compassionate as he withheld
The entrance, and his pity would have spelled
The password in his eyes as he again
Made answer, “Grace is truly all our hope
In promise and fulfilment, but ’tis when
We lay it to our hearts the Gate we ope
And our admission most divinely plead;
For none can think the word but feels its need
And healing touch.”
The Pilgrim’s brow grew sad,
But as he pondered to his knees he fell
And rose as oft before in wonder glad—
“Forgiveness!”
The Angel answered, “Well!”
And stood aside to let him pass.