THE CONFESSIONAL
My Sorrow diligent would sweepThat dingy room infestWith dust (thereby I mean my soul)Because she hath a GuestWho doth require that self-same roomBe garnished for His rest.And Sorrow (who had washed His feetWhere He before had been)Took the long broom of MemoryAnd swept the corners clean,Till in the midst of the fair floorThe sum of dust was seen.It lay there, settled by her tears,That fell the while she swept—Light fluffs of grey and earthy dregs;And over these she wept,For all were come since last her GuestWithin the room had slept.And, for nor broom nor tears had powerTo lift the clods of ill,She called one servant of her GuestWho came with right good will,For, by his sweet Lord’s bidding, heWaiteth on Sorrow still;Who, seeing she had done her partAs far as in her layAnd had intent to keep the placeMore cleanly from that day,Did with his Master’s dust-pan comeAnd take the dust away.She thankèd him, and Him who sentSuch succour, and she spreadFair sheets of Thankfulness and LoveUpon her Master’s bed,Then on the new-scoured threshold stoodAnd listened for His tread.
My Sorrow diligent would sweepThat dingy room infestWith dust (thereby I mean my soul)Because she hath a GuestWho doth require that self-same roomBe garnished for His rest.And Sorrow (who had washed His feetWhere He before had been)Took the long broom of MemoryAnd swept the corners clean,Till in the midst of the fair floorThe sum of dust was seen.It lay there, settled by her tears,That fell the while she swept—Light fluffs of grey and earthy dregs;And over these she wept,For all were come since last her GuestWithin the room had slept.And, for nor broom nor tears had powerTo lift the clods of ill,She called one servant of her GuestWho came with right good will,For, by his sweet Lord’s bidding, heWaiteth on Sorrow still;Who, seeing she had done her partAs far as in her layAnd had intent to keep the placeMore cleanly from that day,Did with his Master’s dust-pan comeAnd take the dust away.She thankèd him, and Him who sentSuch succour, and she spreadFair sheets of Thankfulness and LoveUpon her Master’s bed,Then on the new-scoured threshold stoodAnd listened for His tread.
My Sorrow diligent would sweepThat dingy room infestWith dust (thereby I mean my soul)Because she hath a GuestWho doth require that self-same roomBe garnished for His rest.
And Sorrow (who had washed His feetWhere He before had been)Took the long broom of MemoryAnd swept the corners clean,Till in the midst of the fair floorThe sum of dust was seen.
It lay there, settled by her tears,That fell the while she swept—Light fluffs of grey and earthy dregs;And over these she wept,For all were come since last her GuestWithin the room had slept.
And, for nor broom nor tears had powerTo lift the clods of ill,She called one servant of her GuestWho came with right good will,For, by his sweet Lord’s bidding, heWaiteth on Sorrow still;
Who, seeing she had done her partAs far as in her layAnd had intent to keep the placeMore cleanly from that day,Did with his Master’s dust-pan comeAnd take the dust away.
She thankèd him, and Him who sentSuch succour, and she spreadFair sheets of Thankfulness and LoveUpon her Master’s bed,Then on the new-scoured threshold stoodAnd listened for His tread.