Twelve gates there are in Heaven’s wall
Round the city as clear as glass,
And every gate is made of pearl,
Through which the pure souls pass.

But there’s another humbler gate,
A wicket green and low,
That leads to wide and pleasant fields
Where long cool rushes grow.

Apostles stand by the gates of pearl
But by this, the wicket green,
He who does save both man and beast,
The Lord Himself is seen.

He calls his creatures to come in
And opens the wicket wide,
And the poor things when they hear His voice,
Come through to the other side.

Tired old lame horses and thin stray cats
And sad lost dogs are there,
And the little birds, once cramped and caged,
Flock singing free in the air.

Fair is the city of golden streets,
With the gates of pearl flung wide,
But let us come to the wicket green
And stand by the Master’s side.

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