The door between is some command undone;
Obedience is the key that slides the bar,
And lets him in, who stands so near, so far;
The doors are many, but the key is one.
Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know;
Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice,—
O, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice,
Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go.
Full lief and soon this door would open too,
If once my key might find the narrow slit
Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit,—
But lo! one little ray that glimmers through,
Not spreading light, but lighting to the light,—
Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow,
One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so,—
How small, how great, the change from dark to bright!
II.
Now he is here, I seem no longer here!
This place of light is not my chamber dim,
It is not he with me, but I with him,
And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer.
I was borne onward at his greeting,—he
Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone;
Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn,
Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me!
I lie upon the bosom of my Lord,
And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby;
The tune so sweet, I have no need to try,
But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord.
A little while I lie upon his heart,
Feasting on love, and loving there to feast,
And then, once more, the shadows are increased
Around me, and I feel my Lord depart.
Again alone, but in a farther place
I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign;
Again I hear the same sweet plea divine,
And suit, outside, of hospitable grace.