The Prophet

By Isabel Ecclestone Mackay

HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air

Which common people seek, yet cannot bear,

Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye

The fire of one who cries “I prophesy!”

“Look up!” he said. They looked but could not see.

“Help us!” they cried. He strove, but uselessly —

The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought

Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught!