His Door Is Gold
His door is gold and mine is death but He has gone before.
My Love lies still behind a golden door.
Still! Whose essence to be, festivity!
In silence called, I kneel upon the floor.
A small red flame and I keep hushed sentry;
Witnesses, together we, to Eternal Life here hid.
Gone, yet to remain, till close of history.
No wardrobe opened to a world so fair
As that wherein He is; by narrow path
Through humble gate, where children the standards bear.
This smaller door to greater world points nigh,
Where each tear is dried and every wrong made right,
Where love lives on, and suffers no goodbye.
He calls me (though not yet!) to come. I must
Through my own one day. His door is golden
While mine is death; I shall return to dust.
His door is gold and mine is death
but He has gone before.
He calls me, but not yet, to come.
I wait and I adore.