Classic Poem

I HAVE been so untidy all my days.
I only thought to make my House of Life
A place of happiness—a dwelling bright
With mirth, and gay with hearth and lantern-light;
A banquet-hall wherein the board was set
For many mates. But now the time has come
To set my house in order,—to prepare
For that last guest. About me everywhere
Are soiled, unlovely things. My floors are marked
With many footsteps and my table stained
With wine rings. There are broken things to mend
Pushed back upon the shelves—old faiths—old hopes
And dingy ornaments. Once cherished things
That youth outgrew, old friendships and old loves—
These to be mended, these to be made bright.
O, there is much to do before the night
Brings my last guest. I will throw wide the door
And all my windows to the sun and wind;
I will wipe out these footprints on the floor.
Surely I shall have time, before he comes,
To set my house in order; to arrange
The fair, white linen ready to his hands;
To lay my table in a quiet room
With cleanliness and peaceful candlelight.
I will work very hard the live-long day,
For when the sun is setting he will come—
That guest who cries no greeting at my gate,
Who casts no slanting shadow on the lawn.
I do not know what face he may disclose
Beneath his mantle. Who may say, indeed,
It is not God's? One should not be ashamed
To bid him in. My house at close of day
Must be in order.
There is much to do.