Dear friend, inside thy doorway watching, yearning
For some white ray of hope, content to wait—
Canst thou not hear, with every dawn returning,
The voice that calleth softly at thy gate?
O child of God, why bid the future render
The golden gifts whereof thine ears have heard?
To-day is here in all her shining splendor,
To-day has laden hands and waits thy word.
Toward some goal the hurrying sons of mortals
Strive past each other o'er a stony way.
Stand thou serene, and ope thy bolted portals;
Welcome His messenger, the glad to-day!
