John Greenleaf Whittier.
ENTICED.
I.
With what clear guile of gracious love enticed,
I follow forward, as from room to room,
Through doors that open into light from gloom,
To find, and lose, and find again the Christ!
He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door;
Without he stands, and asks to enter in:
Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin?
Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more?
He knows what ways I take to shut my heart,
And if he will he can himself undo
My foolish fastenings, or by force break through,
Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part.
But nay, he will not choose to enter so,—
He will not be my guest without consent,
Nor, though I say "Come in," is he content;
I must arise and ope, or he will go.
He shall not go; I do arise and ope,—
"Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with me,
O blesséd guest, and let me sup with thee,"—
Where is the door? for in this dark I grope,
And cannot find it soon enough; my hand,
Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need,
And trembles, shaken with its eager heed;
No other key will answer my demand.