Classic Poem

A FRIEND have I, true lover of my soul,
Whose lightest word to me is dearer far
Than any treasure which the dark earth holds,
Or any beauty of the morning star.

When day is on my heart He enters in
And crowns it with the brightness of His grace;
But more I joy, when night envelops me,
To feel His presence, though I miss His face.

But there are times when foolish love of self
So girdles me as with a wall of flame,
That, should He seek me, He would find me not,
Nor answer get if He should call my name.

And other times when open to His feet
The doors of my poor house as quickly swing
As if I were a peasant, and the friend
For whom I waited had been born a king.

Thus coming once when I was at my best,
He said " My friend, I would not have thee roam;
Dost long to see me? Go about thy work,
And I will come and visit thee at home. "

And I in love with all His noble ways,
Feeling that He in nothing could do wrong,
Assented, saying, " Even so I will;
But quickly come, and make thy visit long,

" That I may speak with Thee of hidden things,
Tell Thee alike of all my joy and pain,
And feel Thy freshness all my spirit through,
As summer's roses feel the summer rain. "

And then we parted; but another day
Had not passed over me before the crowd
Began to laugh at me and call me fool,
With here and there a voice that cried aloud,

" Come, seek with us for him who is your Friend. "
And I was weak enough to them obey,
And follow them, despite my better thought,
For many a night and many a weary day.

We found him not, though ever and anon
His name we read in books that were of old,
Which said that once His presence had been sweet,
That He would come and tenderly enfold.

To His warm heart some man of humble birth,
And talk with Him in language just as mild
As that which any mother might repeat
Above the cradle of her little child.

And then I said, " This glory must be mine:
With less than this I cannot be content; "
So left the crowd to seek Him as they would,
And to my home with eager feet I went.

And what to find? My Friend awaiting me,
Here in His place as He had been before;
And down I sank as if it ought to be
That he, my Friend, would be my Friend no more.

But He, as if, no beggar for His grace,
I came of right into His presence fair,
Lifted me up, and from my speechless face
Put back the masses of my tangled hair,

And kissed me once and kissed me twice again,
And said, " Not greater is Thy need of me
Than is my need, although it seemeth not,
Of living and communing still with Thee. "

My words are false, and yet my thoughts are true;
My friend is God, and ever by His grace,
Although by searching I can find Him not,
My soul doth serve us for a trysting-place.