"And when your child died, and you stood by its open grave, was He not knocking then?"
"And these are only the great, startling knocks; there are many others which you do not hear—there is too much noise and bustle inside the house for their sound to reach you. Yet never a day passes that He does not knock in some way or other."
"But oh! Take care, for the day is coming—who can say how soon? When there will be a last knock, a last call; and then He will turn and walk away from the door, never to return."
"Oh, my friends! Why do you keep Him waiting outside? You let all others in. Your pleasures, your companions, your work,—all these knock at the door, and are let in at once. But you have no room for Christ."
"But oh! Remember, if there is no room for Christ in your heart, there will be no room for you in Christ's heaven."
"My friend, He is knocking now; it may be His last knock. He is calling now; it may be His last call."
"'Oh, let Me in.'" He cries, "'and I will make you happy; I am bringing you forgiveness, and peace, and joy, and rest, and all that you need. Oh, let Me in before it is too late! I have waited so patiently and so long, and still I wait. Will you not, even this night, undo the door?'"
When the little service was over the people went back into their houses, and Angel and her mother went on with their work. And as Angel wiped the cups and saucers, she sang softly to herself the chorus of the hymn—
"Oh! My soul, for such a wonder,
Wilt thou not undo the door?"
"Yes, I will!" said her mother suddenly, bursting into tears; "I will undo the door; I will keep Him waiting no longer."