At the Gate.
The monastery towers, as pure and
fair1
As virgin vows, reached up white hands to Heaven
;2
The walls, to guard the hidden heart of prayer,3
Were strong as sin, and white as sin forgiven ;4
And there came holy men, by world’s woe driven ;5
And all about the gold-green meadows lay6
Flower-decked, like children dear that keep May-holiday.7
‘ Here,’ said the Abbot, ‘ let us spend our days,8
Days sweetened by the lilies of pure prayer,9
Hung with white garlands of the rose of praise ;10
And, lest the World should enter with her snare—11
Enter and laugh, and take us unaware12
With her red rose, her purple and her gold—13
Choose we a stranger’s hand the porter’s keys to hold.’14
They chose a beggar from the world outside15
To keep their worldward door for them, and he,16
Filled with a humble and adoring pride,17
Built up a wall of proud humility18
Between the monastery’s sanctity19
And the poor, foolish, humble folk who came20
To ask for love and care, in the dear Saviour’s name.21
For when the poor crept to the guarded gate22
To ask for succour, when the tired asked rest,23
When weary souls, bereft and desolate,24
Craved comfort, when the murmur of the oppressed25
Surged round the grove where Prayer had made her nest,26
The porter bade such take their griefs away,27
And at some other door their bane and burden lay.28
‘ For this,’ he said, ‘ is the white house of prayer,29
Where day and night the holy voices rise30
Through the chill trouble of our earthly air,31
And enter at the gate of Paradise.32
Trample no more our flower-fields in such wise,33
Nor crave the alms of our deep-laden bough ;34
The prayers of holy men are alms enough, I trow.’35
So, seeing that no sick or sorrowing folk36
Came ever to be healed or comforted,37
The Abbot to his brothers gladly spoke :38
‘ God has accepted our poor prayers,’ he said ;39
‘ Over our land His answering smile is spread.40
He has put forth His strong and loving hand,41
And sorrow and sin and pain have ceased in all the land.42
‘ So make we yet more rich our hymns of praise,43
Warm we our prayers against our happy heart.44
Since God hath taken the gift of all our days45
To make a spell that bids all wrong depart,46
Has turned our praise to balm for the world’s smart,47
Fulfilled of prayer and praise be every hour,48
For God transfigures praise, and transmutes prayer, to power.’49
So went the years. The flowers blossomed now50
Untrampled by the dusty, weary feet ;51
Unbroken hung the green and golden bough,52
For none came now to ask for fruit or meat,53
For ghostly food, or common bread to eat ;54
And dreaming, praying, the monks were satisfied,55
Till, God remembering him, the beggar-porter died.56
When they had covered up the foolish head,57
And on the blind and loving heart heaped clay,58
‘ Which of us, brothers, now,’ the Abbot said,59
‘ Will face the world, to keep the world away ? ’60
But all their hearts were hard with prayer, and ‘ Nay,’61
They cried, ‘ ah, bid us not our prayers to leave ;62
Ah father, not to-day, for this is Easter Eve.’63
And, while they murmured, to their midst there came64
A beggar, saying, ‘ Brothers, peace, be still !65
I am your Brother, in our Father’s name,66
And I will be your porter, if ye will,67
Guarding your gate with what I have of skill.’68
So all they welcomed him and closed the door,69
And gat them gladly back unto their prayers once more.70
But, lo ! no sooner did the prayer arise,71
A golden flame athwart the chancel dim,72
Than came the porter crying, ‘ Haste, arise !73
A sick old man waits you to tend on him ;74
And many wait—a knight whose wound gapes grim,75
A red-stained man, with red sins to confess,76
A mother pale, who brings her child for you to bless.’77
The brothers hastened to the gate, and there78
With unaccustomed hand and voice they tried79
To ease the body’s pain, the spirit’s care ;80
But, ere the task was done, the porter cried :81
‘ Behold, the Lord sets your gate open wide,82
In here be starving folk who must be fed,83
And little ones that cry for love and daily bread ! ’84
And, with each slow-foot hour, came ever a throng85
Of piteous wanderers, sinful folk and sad,86
And still the brothers ministered, but long87
The day seemed, with no prayer to make them glad ;88
No holy, meditative joys they had,89
No moment’s brooding-place could poor prayer find,90
And all those hearts to heal and all those wounds to bind.91
And when the crowded, sunlit day at last92
Left the field lonely with its trampled flowers,93
Into the chapel’s peace the brothers passed94
To quell the memory of those hurrying hours.95
‘ Our holy time,’ they said, ‘ once more is ours !96
Come, let us pay our debt of prayer and praise,97
Forgetting in God’s light the darkness of man’s ways ! ’98
But, ere their voices reached the first psalm’s end,99
They heard a new, strange, rustling round their house ;100
Then came the porter : ‘ Here comes many a friend,101
Pushing aside your budding orchard boughs ;102
Come, brothers, justify your holy vows.103
Here be God’s patient, poor, four-footed things104
Seek healing at God’s well, whence loving-kindness springs.’105
Then cried the Abbot in a vexed amaze,106
‘ Our brethren we must aid, if ’tis God’s will ;107
But the wild creatures of the forest ways108
Himself God heals with His Almighty skill.109
And charity is good, and love—but still110
God shall not look in vain for the white prayers111
We send on silver feet to climb the starry stairs ;112
‘ For, of all worthy things, prayer has most worth,113
It rises like sweet incense up to Heaven,114
And from God’s hand falls back upon the earth,115
Being of heavenly bread the accepted leaven.116
Through prayer is virtue saved and sin forgiven ;117
In prayer the impulse and the force are found118
That bring in purple and gold the fruitful seasons round.119
‘ For prayer comes down from Heaven in the sun120
That giveth life and joy to all things made ;121
Prayer falls in rain to make broad rivers run122
And quicken the seeds in earth’s brown bosom laid ;123
By prayer the red-hung branch is earthward weighed,124
By prayer the barn grows full, and full the fold,125
For by man’s prayer God works His wonders manifold.’126
The porter bowed his head to the reproof ;127
But when the echo of the night’s last prayer128
Died in the mystery of the vaulted roof,129
A whispered memory in the hallowed air,130
The Abbot turned to find, still standing there,131
The porter, and his face was still bowed down132
As when it humbly bent before the Abbot’s frown.133
‘ Brother,’ the porter spoke, ‘ I crave your leave134
To leave you—for to-night I journey far.135
But I have kept your gate this Easter Eve,136
And now your house to Heaven shines like a star137
To show the Angels where God’s children are ;138
And in this day your house has served God more139
Than in the praise and prayer of all its days before.140
‘ Yet I must leave you, though I fain would stay,141
For there are other gates I go to keep142
Of houses round whose walls, long day by day,143
Shut out of hope and love, poor sinners weep—144
Barred folds that keep out God’s poor wandering sheep—145
I must teach these that gates where God comes in146
Must not be shut at all to pain, or want, or sin.147
‘ The voice of prayer is very soft and weak,148
And sorrow and sin have voices very strong ;149
Prayer is not heard in Heaven when those twain speak,150
The voice of prayer faints in the voice of wrong151
By the just man endured—oh, Lord, how long ?—152
If ye would have your prayers in Heaven be heard,153
Look that wrong clamour not with too intense a word.154
‘ But when true love is shed on want and sin,155
Their cry is changed, and grows to such a voice156
As clamours sweetly at Heaven to be let in—157
Such sound as makes the saints in Heaven rejoice ;158
Pure gold of prayer, purged of the vain alloys159
Of idleness—that is the sound most dear160
Of all the earthly sounds God leans from Heaven to hear.161
‘ Oh, brother, I must leave thee, and for me162
The work is heavy, and the burden great.163
Thine be this charge I lay upon thee : See164
That never again stands barred thy abbey gate ;165
Look that God’s poor be not left desolate ;166
Ah me ! that chidden my shepherds needs must be,167
When my poor wandering sheep have so great need of me.168
‘ Brother, forgive thy Brother if he chide,169
Thy Brother loves thee—and has loved—for see170
The nails are in my hands, and in my side171
The spear-wound ; and the thorns weigh heavily172
Upon my brow—brother, I died for thee—173
For thee, and for my sheep that are astray,174
And rose to live for thee, and them, on Easter Day ! ’175
‘ My Master and my Lord ! ’ the Abbot cried.176
But, where that Face had been, shone the new day ;177
Only on the marble by the Abbot’s side,178
Where those dear Feet had stood, a lily lay—179
A lily white for the white Easter Day.180
He sought the gate—no sorrow clamoured there—181
And, not till then, he dared to sink his soul in prayer.182
And from that day himself he kept the gate183
Wide open ; and the poor from far and wide,184
The weary, and wicked, and disconsolate,185
Came there for succour and were not denied ;186
The sick were healed, the repentant sanctified ;187
And from their hearts rises more prayer and praise188
Than ever the abbey knew in all its prayer-filled days.189
And there the heavenly vision comes no more,190
Only, each Easter now, a lily sweet191
Lies white and dewy on the chancel floor192
Where once had stood the belovèd wounded Feet ;193
And the old Abbot feels the nearing beat194
Of wings that bring him leave at last to go195
And meet his Master, where the immortal lilies grow.196