My sun has set, I dwell

In darkness as a dead man out of sight;

And none remains, not one, that I should tell

To him mine evil plight

This bitter night.

I will make fast my door

That hollow friends may trouble me no more.

'Friend, open to Me.'--Who is this that calls?

Nay, I am deaf as are my walls:

Cease crying, for I will not hear

Thy cry of hope or fear.

Others were dear,

Others forsook me: what art thou indeed

That I should heed

Thy lamentable need?

Hungry, should feed,

Or stranger, lodge thee here?

'Friend, My Feet bleed.

Open thy door to Me and comfort Me.'

I will not open, trouble me no more.

Go on thy way footsore,

I will not rise and open unto thee.

'Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see

Who stands to plead with thee.

Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou

One day entreat My Face

And howl for grace,

And I be deaf as thou art now.

Open to Me.'

Then I cried out upon him: Cease,

Leave me in peace:

Fear not that I should crave

Aught thou may'st have.

Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,

Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.

What, shall I not be let

Alone, that thou dost vex me yet?

But all night long that voice spake urgently:

'Open to Me.'

Still harping in mine ears:

'Rise, let Me in.'

Pleading with tears:

'Open to Me, that I may come to thee.'

While the dew dropp'd, while the dark hours were cold:

'My Feet bleed, see my Face,

See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,

My Heart doth bleed for thee,--

Open to Me.'

So till the break of day:

Then died away

That voice, in silence as of sorrow;

Then footsteps echoing like a sigh

Pass'd me by,

Lingering footsteps slow to pass.

On the morrow

I saw upon the grass

Each footprint mark'd in blood, and on my door

The mark of blood for evermore.