Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Anson Davies FitzRandolph500 The Masters Invitation
D
What other could such feast afford?
And thou art waiting at the head,
But I am all unworthy, Lord;
Yet do I hear thee say,—
(Was ever love so free?)
Come hither, son, to-day
And sit and sup with me.
My heart with sin and fear defiled;
Come thou, and cast the tempter out,
And make me as a little child;
Methinks I hear thee say,—
Come thou, at once, and see
What love can take away,
And what confer on thee.
Yet tarry now I know not why;
Speak, if to tell what well I know,
That none are half so vile as I.
What do I hear thee say?—
Look, trembling one, and see
These tokens, which to-day
Tell what I did for thee.
What thou didst for my ransom give;
The garden prayer, the bloody sweat,
All this and more, that I might live.
I hear thee sadly say,—
If this remembered be,
Why linger thus to-day?
Why doubt and question me?
I turn from sin and self aside;
Thou hast the idol self o’erthrown,
I only see the Crucified;
I only hear thee say,—
A feast is spread for thee
On this and every day,
If thou but follow me!