Thy kingdom here?
Lord, can it be?
Searching and seeking everywhere
For many a year,
“Thy kingdom come” has been my prayer.
Was that dear kingdom all the while so near?
Blinded and dull
With selfish sin,
Have I been sitting at the gates
Called Beautiful,
Where Thy fair angel stands and waits,
With hand upon the lock to let me in?
Was I the wall
Which barred the way,
Darkening the glory of Thy grace,
Hiding the ray
Which, shining out as from Thy very face,
Had shown to other men the perfect day?
Was I the bar
Which shut me out
From the full joyance which they taste
Whose spirits are
Within Thy Paradise embraced,—
Thy blessed Paradise, which seemed so far?
The vision swells:
I seem to catch
Celestial breezes, rustling low,
The asphodels,
Where, singing softly ever to and fro,
Moves each fair saint who in Thy presence dwells.
Let me not sit
Another hour,
Idly awaiting what is mine to win,
Blinded in wit,
Lord Jesus, rend these walls of self and sin;
Beat down the gate, that I may enter it.