My Love lies still behind a golden door.

Still! Whose essence to be, festivity!

In silence called, I kneel upon the floor.

A small red flame and I keep hushed sentry;

Witnesses, together we, to Eternal Life here hid.

Gone, yet to remain, till close of history.

No wardrobe opened to a world so fair

As that wherein He is; by narrow path

Through humble gate, where children the standards bear. 

This smaller door to greater world points nigh,

Where each tear is dried and every wrong made right,

Where love lives on, and suffers no goodbye.

He calls me (though not yet!) to come. I must

Through my own one day.  His door is golden

While mine is death; I shall return to dust.

His door is gold and mine is death

but He has gone before.

He calls me, but not yet, to come.

I wait and I adore.