Your house to guests has shelter lent, br While you with pen were seated. br In silent quest they came and went, br You saw them not, nor greeted. br But when now they br Were gone away, br Your babe without a mother lay, br And you had lost your helpmate. br br The home you built but yesterday br In death to-day is sinking, br And you stand sick and worn and gray br On ruins of your thinking. br Your way lay bare br Since child you were, br The shelter that you first could share br Was this that now is shattered. br br But know, the guests that to you came br In sorrow's waste will meet you; br Though shy you shrink, they still will claim br The right with love to treat you. br For where you go br To you they show br The world in radiant light aglow br Of great and wondrous visions. br br What once you saw, now passing o'er, br Will but be made the clearer; br It is the far eternal shore, br That on your way draws nearer. br Your poet-sight br Will see in light br All that the clouds have wrapped in night;- br Great doubts will find an answer. br br And later when you leave again br The waste of woe thought-pregnant, br Whom you have met shall teach us then. br Your pen in power regnant. br From sorrow's weal br With purer zeal, br Inspiring light, and pain's appeal br Shall shine your wondrous visions.