And as I gazed and listened, came a cold, blue-footed maiden,
With cheeks of ashen whiteness, eyes filled with lurid light;
Her body bent with sickness, her lone heart heavy laden;
Her home had been the roofless street, her day had been the night.
First wept the angel sadly, then smiled the angel gladly,
And caught the maiden madly rushing from the golden door;
Then I heard the chorus swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling,
"Enter, sister, thou art pure, and thou art sinless evermore!"
I saw the toiler enter to rest for aye from labour;
The weary-hearted exile there found his native land;
The beggar there could greet the King as an equal and a neighbour;
The crown had left the kingly brow, the staff the beggar's hand.
And the gate for ever swinging, made no grating, no harsh ringing,
Melodious as the singing of one that we adore;
And the chorus still was swelling, grand beyond a mortal's telling,
While the vision faded from me with the glad word—"Evermore!"
