“It may be at the cock-crow,
  When the night is dying slowly
      In the sky,
  And the sea looks calm and holy,
      Waiting for the dawn
      Of the golden sun
      Which draweth nigh;
  When the mists are on the valleys, shading
      The rivers chill,
  And my morning-star is fading, fading
      Over the hill: 
  Behold I say unto you:  Watch;
  Let the door be on the latch
      In your home;
  In the chill before the dawning,
  Between the night and morning,
      I may come.

  “It may be in the morning,
      When the sun is bright and strong,
  And the dew is glittering sharply
      Over the little lawn;
  When the waves are laughing loudly
      Along the shore,
  And the little birds are singing sweetly
      About the door;
  With the long day’s work before you,
      You rise up with the sun,
  And the neighbors come in to talk a little
      Of all that must be done. 
  But remember that I may be the next
      To come in at the door,
  To call you from all your busy work
      Forevermore: 
  As you work your heart must watch,
  For the door is on the latch
      In your room,
  And it may be in the morning
      I will come.”

  So He passed down my cottage garden,
      By the path that leads to the sea,
  Till he came to the turn of the little road
      Where the birch and laburnum tree
  Lean over and arch the way;
  There I saw him a moment stay,
      And turn once more to me,
      As I wept at the cottage door,
  And lift up his hands in blessing—­
      Then I saw his face no more.

  And I stood still in the doorway,
      Leaning against the wall,
  Not heeding the fair white roses,
      Though I crushed them and let them fall. 
  Only looking down the pathway,
      And looking toward the sea,
  And wondering, and wondering
      When he would come back for me;
  Till I was aware of an angel
      Who was going swiftly by,
  With the gladness of one who goeth
      In the light of God Most High.

  He passed the end of the cottage
      Toward the garden gate;
  (I suppose he was come down
  At the setting of the sun
  To comfort some one in the village
      Whose dwelling was desolate)
  And he paused before the door
      Beside my place,
  And the likeness of a smile
      Was on his face. 
  “Weep not,” he said, “for unto you is given
      To watch for the coming of his feet
  Who is the glory of our blessed heaven;
      The work and watching will be very sweet,
      Even in an earthly home;
  And in such an hour as you think not
      He will come.”