Classic Poem

Faint and trembling, tired and late,
I approach the bolted gate;
And with humbleness sincere,
Knock, and crave admittance here, —
Worn with wanderings long and sore:
Open the door!

Asking neither alms nor food,
Only rest and quietude;
Hear, I pray, my humble plaint, —
Never soul so tired and faint
Craved compassion here before:
Open the door!

O, how soft the couch will be,
Folded down so peacefully,
Pillows fair and dainty-white,
Shaded from the tiresome light,
By dim angels hovering o'er:
Open the door!

Never on an earthly bed
Was so dainty drapery spread,
Spangled bright with buds and bees,
Broidered with anemones; —
Hear me, Angel, I implore:
Open the door!

Once I longed for Wealth and Place,
Happiness, and Love's sweet grace, —
Now there lives within my breast
Only this one wish, — for Rest, —
Only Rest, — I ask no more:
Open the door!