HIS PICTURE IN MY HEART.
By Cyrus Simmons
I HEARD a knocking while I sat
And read the Book of sacred lore;
So sweet the voice, so faint the rap,
I list to hear the knock once more. "Lo, at thy door I stand and knock,"
To me thus spoke the soft, still voice;
"Why stay the bars, why turn the lock,
Why will ye die, why hell thy choice?" The door I ope'd, and flung it wide,
And bade the honored Guest come in;
"Thy heart I'll wash; in it abide,
And cleanse it, heal it, from all sin." First demon self hence bade He hie,
And follow quick all pride and hate,
Lust of the flesh, lust of the eye,
And appetite I ne'er could sate. He washed and healed it with His blood,
With His own life He made it clean;
Oft self returned, and knocked and stood,
And claimed a right to enter in. His glazing lies me most deceived,
So long, so hard he struggling died.
I love the Guest whom erst I grieved;—
Leave not my heart, leave not my side. Illumed my chambers with the light
That shines refulgent from the Son;
Enthroned, He sits where once sat night;
Hell's gloom is gone, lo, heaven is come! The radiance round so perfect falls,
So perfect lights and shades each part,
His picture shines upon the walls—
My God is imaged in my heart. O, paint, ye rays of righteousness,
In every act, in every word,
That lovely smile, that Saviour-face,
Where God is seen, where God is heard! Knoxville, Tenn. CYRUS SIMMONS.