THEY stood without, their lamps unlit,
All else had entered there;
And loud their wailing voices rose
In wild, yet vain despair.
"Too late! Too late! ye cry in yam,
"There's none to ope the door;
Depart, depart, I know ye not—
Depart for evermore.'
Weeping and desolate they stand,
For mercy's hour is gone,
With brows of woe, yet holding still
The lamps that never shone.
The bridal halls were bright within
The marriage feast begun—
For God was celebrating now
The marriage of His eon.
And glad the loud hosannas rung
From lips that never cease;
And every strain was happiness,
And every thought was peace.
Without 'twas dark, and still they stood
With trembling, pleading sighs,
And unavailing, useless prayers,
And woe that never dies.
Woe, woe, unutterable woe,
Forever, evermore;
No refuge but the lake of fire,
For every hope is o'er.
Sinner, the door is open now,
The feast will soon begin;
O trim your lamp, there still is time,
O enter, enter in.
H. W