My "upper room" is furnished.
Lord, fails there yet one thing,
Or has aught been forgotten,
That Thou wilt not come in?
I've washed my dusty floorings
All white with purity,
And swept out many a falsehood,
To make more room for Thee.
At morn, and eve, and noontime,
Close by the door I wait
For sign of Thy approaching,
Thy hand upon the gate.
I've swept, and cleaned, and garnished;
Yet, listening, I can hear
Nor sound of Thy dear coming,
Nor footstep on the stair.
I turned from all my pleading,
To lift a brother's gloom;
And in that moment's gladness
My Lord was in the room!
