Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow
slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to
me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love
said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my
dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand,
and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but
I?"
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my
shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you
not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear,
then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my
meat."
So I did sit and eat.