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!