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Poems (Greenwell)/The Summons

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4521805Poems — The SummonsDora Greenwell
THE SUMMONS. 
Methought from out the crowd a steadfast eyeDid single out mine own! a voice DivineWas borne within my soul, in tones that madeSuch depth of music there, the sense did fadeThrough sweetness that it kindled; Lord, for thineI knew the voice full well! and yet I heardOf all Thou spakest then one only word;My Name! Thou calledst me! I must prepareFor Thee this day! and wilt Thou come and shareMy Mid-day meal, while I with heart elateShall wait on Thee, or wilt Thou rather waitOn me. Thy servant? through this noon-tide glareThy Banner drawing tenderly, to spreadAn early dusk that I may lay my headThe sooner at Thy supper on Thy breast?It matters little, Lord! or come or send—Take Thou my spirit hence, or like a FriendMake Thou thy home within it,—I am blest.