Is it to me the Mas­ter sends
The message of His grace?
Can He desire within my door
A dwelling place?

Oh, if like that in Bethany
My home might be so blest,
As to receive the Lord Himself,
The wondrous Guest,

How would swift love the place prepare
Where He should soon abide,
And every toil and every care
Be glorified!

And when His step the threshold crossed,
How sacred ev­er­more
Would be this little room of mine,
This lowly door!

Listen, my soul! He comes indeed
To be a guest of thine;
Know that thy human heart may be
His sacred shrine;

Sacred and blest for­ev­er­more,
Since He will enter there;
Oh, let His dwelling be prepared
With faith and prayer.

Wouldst thou unto the Mas­ter’s will
Thine own will consecrate?
Look on His brethren poor and sad,
Without thy gate;

Hear then what tender words He speaks,
The Sinless, Undefiled:
“Once I was poor, I dwelt on earth
A little child;

And every gentle ministry
Of love, whate’er it be,
When given to My friendless ones,
Is given to Me.

Behold, He’s standing at the door;
Hasten thy Lord to meet!
Bid Him come in that thou mayst kneel
Low at His feet.

There wilt thou learn, as Mary did,
The heavenly path to choose.
O Sav­ior, enter! Let me not
Thy presence lose!