Classic Poem

When ended is thy sojourn here,
Immortal soul, beware
Lest evilly thou fare.
Through Death and Night the road lies drear.

In the city of light, at the golden gate,
God's soldiers will stand and ask
How thou hast done thy task,
Inquiring not thy name and state.

At the door the pilgrim takes from his feet
The dusty shoes that pressed—
Enter; within are rest
And easy slippers and music sweet.