He stood before my heart's closed door, <br />And asked to enter in; <br />But I had barred the passage o'er <br />By unbelief and sin. <br /> <br />He came with nail-prints in his hands, <br />To set my spirit free; <br />With wounded feet he trod a path <br />To come and sup with me. <br /> <br />He found me poor and brought me gold, <br />The fire of love had tried, <br />And garments whitened by his blood, <br />My wretchedness to hide. <br /> <br />The glare of life had dimmed my eyes, <br />Its glamour was too bright. <br />He came with ointment in his hands <br />To heal my darkened sight. <br /> <br />He knew my heart was tempest-tossed, <br />By care and pain oppressed; <br />He whispered to my burdened heart, <br />Come unto me and rest. <br /> <br />He found me weary, faint and worn, <br />On barren mountains cold; <br />With love's constraint he drew me on, <br />To shelter in his fold. <br /> <br />Oh! foolish heart, how slow wert thou <br />To welcome thy dear guest, <br />To change thy weariness and care <br />For comfort, peace and rest. <br /> <br />Close to his side, oh! may I stay, <br />Just to behold his face, <br />Till I shall wear within my soul <br />The image of his grace. <br /> <br />The grace that changes hearts of stone <br />To tenderness and love, <br />And bids us run with willing feet <br />Unto his courts above.<br /><br />Frances Ellen Watkins Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-refiner-s-gold/
