Poems (Jackson)/"Alms at the Beautiful Gate"
H, how shall we, lame from the mother's womb,The temple enter! Beautiful in vainFor us, the gate, where we, in double pain,Of suffering and of loss, can find no room;Whose whiteness only makes our outer gloomThe blacker, and whose shining steps, more plainThan words, mock cripples weeping to attainThe inner courts, where censers, sweet perfume,And music fill the air!O sinful fear!Dare not to doubt. Our helplessness laid nearThat gate, is safe; our faith without alarmsCan wait; the good apostles will appear;Our crippled beggary, made rich by almsOf God, shall leap and praise, in grateful psalms.
"ALMS AT THE BEAUTIFUL GATE."
H, how shall we, lame from the mother's womb,The temple enter! Beautiful in vainFor us, the gate, where we, in double pain,Of suffering and of loss, can find no room;Whose whiteness only makes our outer gloomThe blacker, and whose shining steps, more plainThan words, mock cripples weeping to attainThe inner courts, where censers, sweet perfume,And music fill the air!O sinful fear!Dare not to doubt. Our helplessness laid nearThat gate, is safe; our faith without alarmsCan wait; the good apostles will appear;Our crippled beggary, made rich by almsOf God, shall leap and praise, in grateful psalms.