Ah, that door! Why wilt thou vex me, Coming ever to perplex me? For the key is stiffly rusty, And the bolt is clogged and dusty; Many-fingered ivy vine Seals it fast with twist and twine; Weeds of years and years before Choke the passage of that door. Knocking! knocking! What? Still knocking? He still there? What's the hour? The night is waning-- In my heart a drear complaining, And a chilly, sad unrest. Ah, this knocking! It disturbs me! Scares my sleep with dreams unblest! Give me rest, Rest--ah, rest! Rest, dear soul, He longs to give thee; Thou hast only dreamed of pleasure, Dreamed of gifts and golden treasure, Dreamed of jewels in thy keeping, Waked to weariness of weeping;-- Open to thy soul's one Lover, And thy night of dreams is over,-- The true gifts He brings have seeming More than all thy faded dreaming! Did she open? Doth she? Will she? So, as wondering we behold, Grows the picture to a sign. Pressed upon your soul and mine; For in every breast that liveth Is that strange, mysterious door;-- The forsaken and betangled, Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled, Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;-- There the piercèd hand still knocketh, And with ever patient watching, With the sad eyes true and tender, With the glory-crownèd hair,-- Still a God is waiting there. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. * * * * * TO-MORROW. Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care, Thou didst seek after me,--that Thou didst wait, Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate, And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? O, strange delusion, that I did not greet Thy blest approach! and, O, to heaven how lost, If my ingratitude's unkindly frost Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy feet! How oft my guardian angel gently cried, "Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How He persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O, how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open." I replied! And when the morrow came, I answered still, "To-morrow." From the Spanish of LOPE DE VEGA. Translation of H.W. LONGFELLOW. * * * * * I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE. I gave my life for thee, My precious blood I shed That thou mightst ransomed be, And quickened from the dead. I gave my life for thee; What hast thou given for me? I spent long years for thee In weariness and woe, That an eternity Of joy thou mightest know. I spent long years for thee; Hast thou spent one for me? My Father's home of light, My rainbow-circled throne, I left, for earthly night, For wanderings sad and lone. I left it all for thee; Hast thou left aught for me? I suffered much for thee, More than thy tongue may tell Of bitterest agony, To rescue thee from hell. I suffered much for thee; What canst thou bear for me?