Love

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin,

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."

Love said, "You shall be he."

"I, the unkind, ungrateful?  Ah my dear, 

I cannot look on Thee."

Love took my hand, and smiling, did reply,

"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marred them; let my shame

Go where it doth deserve."

"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"

"My dear, then I will serve."

"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."

So I did sit and eat.