Oh! surely for thee were the gates ajar, <br />As thy chariot onward sped, <br />When with brightened eye and youth renewed, <br />Triumphant thou did'st tread <br />Through the gates of death, to the portals bright, <br />While the ransomed myriads sing, <br />'Lift up your heads, ye Golden Gates,' <br />Let the aged pilgrim in. <br /> <br />No terrors for thee had the darksome vale, <br />For like the wise virgins of old, <br />Thou keep'st thy lamp burning and trimmed from <br />thy youth, <br />Till three-score and ten were well told. <br />And oft, as a shepherd, that tends his flock, <br />Thou did'st them to still waters lead, <br />And 'mid the green pastures of justified grace, <br />Thou lovedst thy children to feed. <br /> <br />Then Pastor and Leader, fond Parent, adieu, <br />Till the last, grand trump shall sound, <br />When shepherd and flock united once more, <br />Shall echo a long harvest home.<br /><br />Mary Weston Fordham<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rev-samuel-weston/
