Will you keep Him outside, dear Emma?"
Miss Rose's voice died away, and silence reigned in the darkening
room; the fire fell together and sent up a cheerful flame, Emma Smith
lay thinking,--"Was it really true that He wanted her?" That she had
turned her back on Him, and mocked and insulted Him, she knew, knew
better than anyone else could,--and could He really love her in spite
of all?
Miss Rose's voice broke the silence, singing softly,
"Knocking, knocking, who is there?
Waiting, waiting, oh, how fair!
'Tis a Pilgrim, strange and kingly,
Never such was seen before;
Ah, my soul, for such a wonder
Wilt thou not undo the door?
Knocking, knocking--what, still there?
Waiting, waiting, grand and fair,
Yes, the pierced hand still knocketh,
And beneath the crowned hair
Beam the patient eyes, so tender,
Of the Saviour, waiting there."
Low sobs broke from the poor soul on the bed, sobs of grief and joy
and repentance. "If He really cares--if He is really like that!" she
sobbed. "Oh, I want Him! I do want Him to love and take care of me,
too!"
Miss Rose's arms were round her, her lips were on her brow.
"My dear, He is all that, and more. He will take care of you always,
in this world and the next. He will love you so that you cannot feel
lonely any more.
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