Death, thy servant, is at my door.
He has crossed the unknown sea
and brought thy call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is fearful --
yet I will take up the lamp,
open my gates and bow to him my welcome.
It is thy messenger who stands at my door.
I will worship him with folded hands, and with tears.
I worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.
He will go back with his errand done,
leaving a dark shadow on my morning;
and in my desolate home only my forlorn self
will remain as my last offering to thee.