The Spirit came in childhood
And pleaded, "Let Me in.”
But ah; the door was bolted
There's time enough for me.
And barred by childish sin.
The child said: "I'm too little;
Today I cannot open.”
The Spirit turned away.
Again He came and pleaded
In youth's bright happy hour.
He called, but heard no answer,
For, fettered in sin's power,
The youth lay idly dreaming
And crying, "Not today;
For I must have some pleasure.”
Again He turned away.
He came again in mercy
In manhood's vigorous prime,
But still could find no welcome.
The merchant had no time
To spare for true repentance
No time to praise or pray.
And thus, repulsed and saddened,
The Spirit turned away.
Once more He called and waited.
The man was old and sad;
He scarcely heard the whisper:
His heart was scarred and bad.
"Go leave me! when I want Thee,
I'll call for Thee," he cried.
Then, sinking on his pillow,
Without a hope he died.