Poem September 3, 1938 ISSUE

A Parable of the Sacrament

PRULA I. GUFFY

One day I swept the doorstone of my heartAnd fanned the fire on its hearth to flame;With patient steps the oaken table spread,And laid thereon the bread my hands had made.The earthen pitcher filled with water, then,I ran to set the heavy door ajar.For had not Christ to John's rapt sense revealed.Behold, I stand without the door and knock.If any man will hear my voiceAnd open the door,I will come in and sup with him,And he with me.

Now all was well prepared. At last I heardA gentle knock, a low and loving voice.And running joyous, opened wide the door,To flood my heart with light like none on earth.And so Christ Came.

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