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!