THE trance of golden afternoon
Lay on the Judæan skies;
The trance of vision, like a swoon,
Sealed the Apostle’s eyes.
Upon the roof he sat and saw
Angelic hands let down and draw
Again the mighty vessel full
Of beasts and birds innumerable.
Three times the heavenly vision fell,
Three times the Lord’s voice spoke;
When Peter, loath to break the spell,
Roused from his trance, and woke,
To hear a common sound and rude,
Which jarred and shook his solitude,—
A knocking at the doorway near,
Where stood the two from Cæsarea.
And should he heed, or should he stay?
Scarce had the vision fled,—
Perchance it might return that day,
Perchance more words be said
By the Lord’s voice?—he rises slow;
Again the knocking; he must go;
Nor guessed, while going down the stair,
That ’twas the Lord who called him there.
Had he sat still upon the roof,
Wooing the vision long,
The Gentile world had missed the truth,
And Heaven one “sweet new song.”
Souls might have perished in blind pain,
And the Lord Christ have died in vain
For them. He knew not what it meant,
But Peter rose and Peter went.
Oh, souls which sit in upper air,
Longing for heavenly sight,
Glimpses of truth all fleeting-fair,
Set in unearthly light,—
Is there no knocking heard below,
For which you should arise and go,
Leaving the vision, and again
Bearing its message unto men?
Sordid the world were vision not,
But fruitless were your stay;
So, having seen the sight, and got
The message, haste away.
Though pure and bright thy higher air,
And hot the street and dull the stair,
Still get thee down, for who shall know
But ’tis the Lord who knocks below?