THE OPEN DOOR

If so it be that through my open gate Some thief shall enter and despoil in hate, Shall quench the fire upon my hearth of trust, Leave but dead ashes and a barren crust; Still shall I say ’twere better far that I Left open, free, my windows to the sky; That my door stood ajar by night and day, My gate outflung to Angels by the way. For oh, one morn before my leaping fire, I met the eyes of Truth, and list the lyre Across whose strings the hands of Seraphs swept, The while my heart its Heavenly music kept. And often have I bound with tender care The thorn-rent feet of strayed ones, pausing where My door stood wide—a refuge from the night; And sent them singing, to ascend the height. Let enter then who will, my heart stands open wide; I’ve thrown away the key, nor fear what may betide. I could not bear to think one sought me with a prayer In vain,—that Hope should sadly turn away—Despair. So would I ope my door, e’en though some fiend might slay,— Lest Truth should find it barred, or Love be turned away.