This is a poem I read at my fathers funeral by Mother Augustine OCD Santa Clara Carmel

Where shall I knock, upon what door,
what mansion shall I stand before,
when all are closed to me?
Needy and poor my spirit cries,
as weary bird that homing hies,
through gathering dusk of evening skies,
my nest I fain would see.

But all is dark, no message lights,
the starless dome above the heights,
where on I lonely wait;
No beakon flashes on my gaze,
the mellow splendor of its rays,
to mark the turning of the ways
or point some friendly gate.

But hark! is there a whisper near,
or but the sihing wind I hear,
faint as a touch divine.
“I am the door – come through me,
Come I have waited long for thee,
knock and my heart shall open be,
enter, my home is thine”.

Ah master, tis thy voice I hear,
and I am knocking without fear,
open in haste to me!
Open and on thy loving breast,
my weary panting spirit rest,
behold I come, no passing guest,
but thine eternally.