C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
At the Church Gate
By William Makepeace Thackeray (18111863)
A
Yet round about the spot
Ofttimes I hover:
And near the sacred gate
With longing eyes I wait,
Expectant of her.
Above the city’s rout,
And noise and humming:
They’ve hushed the minster bell;
The organ ’gins to swell:
She’s coming, she’s coming!
Timid, and stepping fast,
And hastening hither,
With modest eyes downcast;
She comes—she’s here—she’s past—
May heaven go with her!
Pour out your praise or plaint
Meekly and duly:
I will not enter there,
To sully your pure prayer
With thoughts unruly.
Round the forbidden place,
Lingering a minute,
Like outcast spirits who wait
And see through heaven’s gate
Angels within it.