OPEN THY GATE

By Gilbert Parker

Here in the highway without thy garden wall,

Here in the babel and the glare,

Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call:

Open thy gate unto my prayer —

Open thy gate.

Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade,

All things commend thee in thy place;

Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid,

But, fearing, long to look upon thy face —

Open thy gate.

Over the ample globe, searching for thee,

Thee and thy garden have I come;

Ended my questing: no more, no more for me,

O Sweet, the pilgrim's sandals, call me home —

Open thy gate.