“BEHOLD, I STAND AT THE DOOR, AND KNOCK.”
By Lydia H. Myers
At the door of thy heart I am knocking, I wait for a voice from within, That shall bid me, as rightful possessor, Bind and cast out the strong man of sin. I have stood, I have watched, I have waited, Till my locks with the dews are all wet; My spirit with thine has been pleading, But no answer is given as yet. There was in the past a blest season When thy hand drew aside the great bar, And I verily thought I might enter, For the door, as it were, stood ajar. But too quickly came earth’s fleeting pleasures, With all their pretense of a claim, And the half-opened door fast rebounding Was closed on thy Saviour again. I have opened my storehouse of blessing, And poured my rich treasures on thee; Home, talents, and friends thou’rt possessing, But what art thou giving to me? ’Tis the morning of life, and thy pathway With bright fragrant roses is strewn; The sun of thy morning ascending, With promise is gilding thy noon. But many a sun rising brightly Ere noon is with clouds overspread, And earth’s fairest flowers are fading, And soon must lie withered and dead. Will it pay thee, my child, to be gathering These dry, withered leaves in that day When the harvest its sheaves will be yielding, And the reapers go singing away? Will it pay thee to bury the talent That I to thy keeping have given, While others with increase are bringing Theirs back to the safe bank of Heaven? I could go from the door at thy bidding, But in love and in mercy I wait, If perchance thou wilt yield me an entrance Ere for thee it is written, “Too late.” —LYDIA H. MYERS, in Christian Press.