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.
This is his guile,--he makes me act the host
To shelter him, and lo! he shelters me;
Asking for alms, he summons me to be
A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost.
So, on and on, through many an opening door
That gladly opens to the key I bring,
From brightening court to court of Christ, my King,
Hope-led, love-fed, I journey evermore.
At last I trust these changing scenes will cease;
There is a court, I hear, where he abides;
No door beyond, that further glory hides.--
My host at home, all change is changed to peace.
_William C. Wilkinson._
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