Were a king to come to my lowly home,
Or a prince or a duke or an earl,
What a cleansing would furbish the whole of the house,
Till it shone as pure as a pearl!
How the best that I had, on the floor and the bed,
On table and mantel and wall,
Would gladly be lavished and eagerly spread,
And I be ashamed of it all!
Yet the Monarch of mouarchs, the Only Supreme,
The Lord whom the heavens obey,
The Splendor that passes the height of a dream,
Will visit my household to-day;
And the shutters are closed, and the cobwebs are thick,
And a hinge is off of the door,
And I, in a garment of wretchedness clad,
Am down in the dirt on the floor!
