Classic Poem

This is the word we waited long to hear,
Hurried upon the lips of living men,
Bright as a sword against the bones of Fear.

" The doors of my house are open, the table is set
For the guest of my heart, my beloved; come, enter again,
The labor is over, and Master and Servant are met.

Unloose the latchets of his bleeding feet,
Bind up the blotches of his battered head,
Stay him with flagons and with things to eat.

This is my Son, now wandered home at last,
Home from the hill of pity and the dead,
Until the dream of Golgotha is passed.

Lift up your head, beloved, open your eyes,
Turn from the pain of your torn and shattered hands,
Turn from the night to the light of the dawn in the skies.

Unloose the latchets of his bleeding feet,
Bind them with healing leaves and fragrant bands,
Stay him with flagons and with things to eat. "