Classic Poem

Lord, oft I come unto Thy door,
But when Thou openest it to me,
Back to the dark I shrink once more,
Away from light and Thee.

Lord, oft some gift of Thee I pray;
Thou givest bread of finest wheat;
Empty I turn upon my way,
Counting a stone more sweet.

Thou biddest me speed; then sit I still;
Thou biddest me stay; then do I go;
Lord, make me Thine in deed and will,
And ever keep me so!