The Green Wicket . . .
Twelve gates there are in Heaven's wall
Round the city clear as glass
And every gate is made of pearl
Through which the white souls pass.
But there's another humbler gate
A wicket green and low
That leads to wide and pleasant fields
Where long, cool grasses grow.
Apostles stand at the gates of pearl
But by this wicket green,
He who doth save both man and beast,
The Lord Himself is seen.
He calls His creatures to come in
And opens the wicket wide
And the poor things, when they hear His voice,
Flock through to the other side.
Tired horses and mangy cats
And poor lost dogs are there
And little birds once cramped and caged
Come singing through the air.
Fair is the city of golden streets
With the gates of pearl strung wide.
But let us come to that wicket green
And stand by the Master's side.
Anon.