Death, thy servant

Death, thy servant, is at my door.

He has crossed the unknown sea

and brought thy call to my home.

The night is dark and my heart is fearful --

yet I will take up the lamp,

open my gates and bow to him my welcome.

It is thy messenger who stands at my door.

I will worship him with folded hands, and with tears.

I worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.

He will go back with his errand done,

leaving a dark shadow on my morning;

and in my desolate home only my forlorn self

will remain as my last offering to thee.