At The Gate

"For behold, the kingdom of God is within you."     Thy kingdom here?     Lord, can it be?     Searching and seeking everywhere     For many a year,     "Thy kingdom come" has been my prayer.     Was that dear kingdom all the while so near?     Blinded and dull     With selfish sin,     Have I been sitting at the gates     Called Beautiful,     Where Thy fair angel stands and waits,     With hand upon the lock to let me in?     Was I the wall     Which barred the way,     Darkening the glory of Thy grace,     Hiding the ray     Which, shining out as from Thy very face,     Had shown to other men the perfect day?     Was I the bar     Which shut me out     From the full joyance which they taste     Whose spirits are     Within Thy Paradise embraced,--     Thy blessed Paradise, which seemed so far?     The vision swells:     I seem to catch     Celestial breezes, rustling low,     The asphodels,     Where, singing softly ever to and fro,     Moves each fair saint who in Thy presence dwells.     Let me not sit     Another hour,     Idly awaiting what is mine to win,     Blinded in wit,     Lord Jesus, rend these walls of self and sin;     Beat down the gate, that I may enter it.