Lucy Larcom

The King at the Door

LIFT up the everlasting gates!
The King before your threshold waits.
Shall He who life's great building planned
Unwelcomed at its portal stand?

Is there a corner of your heart
Where you retreat, alone, apart,
A sanctuary all your own?
Behold! He made it for His throne.

Is there a darkness, where, shut in,
You dare not face your secret sin?
Lo! there He built His mercy seat,
There He your humbled soul will meet.

Have you a stately banquet hall
Where guests from many a clime you call?
You see not any face aright
Until He enters with His light.

Ye rich ones, why will ye abide
In poverty of lonely pride?
Your silver and your gold are dim,
Your house is empty, without Him.

Ye lowly ones, if ye are His,
Ye have no need of palaces,
Since that rich soul can lack for naught
Who lets God in at every thought.

Lift up the everlasting gates!
The King at His own threshold waits. —
Enter, O Lord, and with Thy face
Make glorious this Thy dwelling place!