In honor of Dr. Richard L. Caulkins and with apologies to George Herbert

 

They sit, men such as I,
In the glory of His presence,
Partaking of His feast.
I linger in the darkness
Gazing unsteadily in.
The Master stands beside me
Brushing snow from us both.

“Come in,” He urges.
“Your chair is empty, waiting.”
Once more I shake my head.
“I have seen this place before, Lord,
And it is not for me.”
“You have seen the halls of men.
But, child, this is My hall,
And I say to you, come in.”

I turn slowly from the golden hall
And stumble into the night,
Driven by distrust and unbelief.
But step for step the Master
Walks away with me,
Brushing the snow from us both.