In the doorway looking outward
On a world so bleak and grim
I can feel my heartbeats falter
As it ever grows more dim.
All the cries of hate and anguish
They are mounting to the sky;
And the naked truth is cringing
Underneath the mighty lie.
And annals of despair are writ
Across the coming night.
And I shudder and I tremble
For I cannot bear the sight.
But then I turn around and see --
This is my Father’s place.
The walls are made of angel hordes,
The floors we tread are grace.
And stumbling saints are climbing up
The wondrous stairs of light;
And faith is finding footholds
That are hid from human sight.
How measureless the love that flows
From here out to the dark.
So many wanderers may find
Their way lit by a spark.
And forth they go with bowls of light,
The faithful and the true,
That so the broken sons of men
May rise up whole and new.
And like a crowd they shall come in
And who shall bar their way?
For they have heard the homeward call,
And weary feet obey.
And mercy shall dry all their tears,
And love shall lead them in
And wash them very tenderly
From every staining sin.
And home at last, at last they heal,
At last they are made well,
And they shall know such joy, such peace,
Within his light to dwell.
