Forsooth, they are of much account, good Lord! 
Therefore have patience with me—­wait, dear Lord
Or come again?’
                   What! must He wait for THIS—­
For this?  Ay, He doth wait for this, and still,
Waiting for this, He, patient, raileth not;
Waiting for this, e’en this He saith, ’Behold! 
I stand at the door and knock,’
                                  O patient hand! 
Knocking and waiting—­knocking in the night
When work is done!  I charge you, by the sea
Whereby you fill your children’s mouths, and by
The might of Him that made it—­fishermen! 
I charge you, mothers! by the mother’s milk
He drew, and by His Father, God over all. 
Blessed forever, that ye answer Him! 
Open the door with shame, if ye have sinned;
If ye be sorry, open it with sighs. 
Albeit the place be bare for poverty,
And comfortless for lack of plenishing,
Be not abashed for that, but open it,
And take Him in that comes to sup with thee;
‘Behold!’ He saith, ‘I stand at the door and knock.’

“Now, hear me:  there be troubles in this world
That no man can escape, and there is one
That lieth hard and heavy on my soul,
Concerning that which is to come:—­
               I say
As a man that knows what earthly trouble means,
I will not bear this ONE—­I cannot bear
This ONE—­I cannot bear the weight of you—­
You—­every one of you, body and soul;
You, with the care you suffer, and the loss
That you sustain; you, with the growing up
To peril, maybe with the growing old
To want, unless before I stand with you
At the great white throne, I may be free of all,
And utter to the full what shall discharge
Mine obligation:  nay, I will not wait
A day, for every time the black clouds rise,
And the gale freshens, still I search my soul
To find if there be aught that can persuade
To good, or aught forsooth that can beguile
From evil, that I (miserable man! 
If that be so) have left unsaid, undone.

“So that when any risen from sunken wrecks,
Or rolled in by the billows to the edge
Of the everlasting strand, what time the sea
Gives up her dead, shall meet me, they may say
Never, ’Old man, you told us not of this;
You left us fisher lads that had to toil
Ever in danger of the secret stab
Of rocks, far deadlier than the dagger; winds
Of breath more murderous than the cannon’s; wave
Mighty to rock us to our death; and gulfs,
Ready beneath to suck and swallow us in: 
This crime be on your head; and as for us—­
What shall we do? ’but rather—­nay, not so,
I will not think it; I will leave the dead,
Appealing but to life:  I am afraid
Of you, but not so much if you have sinned
As for the doubt if sin shall be forgiven. 
The day was, I have been afraid of pride—­
Hard man’s hard pride; but now I am afraid
Of man’s humility, I counsel you,
By the great God’s great humbleness, and by
His pity, be not humble over-much. 
See!  I will show at whose unopened doors
He stands and knocks, that you may never says
’I am too mean, too ignorant, too lost;
He knocks at other doors, but not at mine.’