The Love-shed Tear

Knocked a man at the shining Gate,

Hard and bad and proud and old!

Deep in years—for his call was late.

The Gate was shut, and he had to wait,

And he leaned awhile on his bag of gold.

Roll'd the Heavenly portals back,

Guarded close by a flaming sword!

The old man opened out his sack,

Saint Peter searched the sordid pack,

"Is this thy passport to the Lord?"

Saint Peter sighed, ill-gotten greed

Was all therein to offer God,

He vainly sought one kindly deed,

One gentle word to those in need,

One little step in mercy trod.

"And is this all?" Saint Peter said,

"This fruitless hoard of worthless sin,

This earthly gold, which weighs like lead?

Oh, wretched man! thy soul is dead!

 Prev. P 15/76 next