THE HEIGHTS

I cried,‘ Dear Angel, lead me to the heights,

And spur me to the top.’

The Angel answered,‘ Stop

And set thy house in order; make it fair

For absent ones who may be speeding there.

Then will we talk of heights.’

I put my house in order.‘ Now lead on!’

The Angel said,‘ Not yet;

Thy garden is beset

By thorns and tares; go weed it, so all those

Who come to gaze may find the unvexed rose;

Then will we journey on.’

I weeded well my garden.‘ All is done.’

The Angel shook his head.

‘ A beggar stands,’ he said,

‘ Outside thy gates; till thou hast given heed

And soothed his sorrow, and supplied his need,

Say not that all is done.’

The beggar left me singing.‘ Now at last -

At last the path is clear.’

‘ Nay, there is one draws near

Who seeks, like thee, the difficult highway.

He lacks thy courage; cheer him through the day

Then will we cry, “At last! "’

I helped my weaker brother.‘ Now the heights;

Oh, Guide me, Angel, guide!’

The Presence at my side,

With radiant face, said,‘ Look, where are we now?’

And lo! we stood upon the mountain's brow -

The heights, the shining heights!