  Knocked a man at the shining Gate, Hard and bad and proud and old! Deep in years—for his call was late. The Gate was shut, and he had to wait, And he leaned awhile on his bag of gold. Roll'd the Heavenly portals back, Guarded close by a flaming sword! The old man opened out his sack, Saint Peter searched the sordid pack, "Is this thy passport to the Lord?" Saint Peter sighed, ill-gotten greed Was all therein to offer God, He vainly sought one kindly deed, One gentle word to those in need, One little step in mercy trod. "And is this all?" Saint Peter said, "This fruitless hoard of worthless sin, This earthly gold, which weighs like lead? Oh, wretched man! thy soul is dead! Thou mayst—thou canst not enter in! "Could I have found one single sign Of life within thy sordid soul, One kindling spark of Life Divine, The flames of hell had not been thine. Hence"—and he seal'd the Judgment scroll. Down to the fires whose lurid light Lick'd and blazoned the depths of hell, Mocking red in the pitchy night, Down, ever down, from out God's sight, Down to the damned the Miser fell. There in the haunts of deepest sin Satan watched with his sombre eye. The trembling Miser peered within, He thought to find his kith and kin Whose guilt condemned them too—to die. He wandered round from place to place, Then beat his breast with wondering moan, For lo! of all the human race The Miser stood in hell—Alone! For all had found some saving grace That set them free to seek God's face And could their vilest sins atone. He cowered low in abject fear, No single virtue could he plead, Satan's own—by self decreed! When sudden! 'neath a dastard deed, The devil cried, "What lieth here?" It was a single love-shed tear Shed in an hour of direst need. Once he had wept in grief and pain, Once—when his child lay coldly dead, Once he had prayed. No prayer is vain. This prayer had lived to save again And bring remission on his head. Only a tear! The Heavenly Choir Praised the Lord for the thing call'd love; But Satan shrieked in frenzied ire, "This foolish tear will quench my fire, This man must go above—above!" Back again where the flaming sword Closely guarded the jewelled door. "I seek," he humbly sobbed, "our Lord. I brought Thee gold—a worthless hoard— Thou wouldst not let me in before. "But now I come to Thee with this— A little thing, 'tis very small— I pray Thee take it not amiss, My gold is in the dark abyss, This little tear, oh Lord, is all!" "Oh wondrous drop," Saint Peter cried, "That shows the sap of life within A living Soul, with chance to win A place with God, immune from sin! Methought the fount of Life had dried" (He flung the Gates of Heaven wide), "Go, living Soul, and enter in!" There in the lowest halls of grace, Through deep remorse and pains austere He washed his soul from sin's dark trace, Then in his heart-felt awe and fear He lowly sought his Saviour's face, Saved to life through a love-shed tear! |
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