Open Thy Gate

Here in the highway without thy garden wall, Here in the babel and the glare, Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call: Open thy gate unto my prayer-- Open thy gate.

Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade, All things commend thee in thy place; Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid, But, fearing, long to look upon thy face-- Open thy gate.

Over the ample globe, searching for thee, Thee and thy garden have I come; Ended my questing: no more, no more for me, O Sweet, the pilgrim's sandals, call me home-- Open thy gate.