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tr., John Brownlie



O Lord of mercy, at Thy gate

I loudly knock though coming late,

And seek to enter in;

Noon passed with all its promise clear,

The day declined, now night is here—

Forgive, O Lord, my sin.


I wandered while the daylight shone,

Nor thought until the light had flown

How far my feet had strayed;

I said, "My wanderings I'll control,"

But while the world sang to my soul,

I sinfully delayed.


O let me in—I see the light,

Its golden arrows pierce the night,

But all without is drear,

And cold, and chill; O night winds, bear

The burden of my heart-born prayer,

And bring it to His ear.


I hear the music and the song,

The laughter of the gleeful throng

That fill the festal hall;

The night dews fall, I've journeyed far—

O wilt Thou not the gate unbar,

In answer to my call?


Thou sought'st, O Lord, the wandering child,

By wood and stream, and moorland wild,

When Thou on earth did'st dwell;

The fold, secure, was left behind,

That Thou might'st seek the lost, and find

Whom Thou did'st love so well.


Yea, 'tis Thy voice! the gate unbar,—

O let me in, I've travelled far,

The midnight wind is chill;

O Christ, what means the silent dread?

Why is the voice of gladness dead,

And all within so still?


Yea, 'tis His voice—Thy servant hears,

Speak, Lord! "Depart?" O night, and fears!

O deepest, darkest woe!

"Depart, for thou hast come too late,

The day is gone, and closed the gate,

Hence from My presence go!"

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