The Spirit came in childhood,

And pleaded, "Let me in;" 

But ah, the door was bolted

And barred by childish sin. 

The child said, "I'm too little;

There's time enough today; 

I cannot open;" sadly

The Spirit went his way.

Again he came and pleaded

In youth's bright, happy hour, 

He called, but heard no answer;

For fettered in sin's power, 

The youth lay dreaming idly,

And crying, "Not today; 

For I must have some pleasure;"

Again he turned away.

Again he came in mercy,

In manhood's vigorous prime; 

But still could find no welcome, 

The merchant had "No time" 

To spare for true repentance,

No time to praise and pray; 

And thus repulsed and saddened,

The Spirit turned away.

Once more he called and waited,

The man was old and sad; 

He scarcely heard the whisper,

His heart was seared and bad. 

Go, leave me. When I need thee

I'll call for thee," he cried; 

Then, sinking on his pillow,

Without a God he died!