Poems (Greenwell)/The Summons
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THE SUMMONS.
Methought from out the crowd a steadfast eye Did single out mine own! a voice DivineWas borne within my soul, in tones that madeSuch depth of music there, the sense did fade Through 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.