Occupation

There must in heaven be many industries     And occupations, varied, infinite;     Or heaven could not be heaven.     What gracious tasks     The Mighty Maker of the universe     Can offer souls that have prepared on earth     By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires!     Art thou a poet to whom words come not?     A dumb composer of unuttered sounds,     Ignored by fame and to the world unknown?     Thine may be, then, the mission to create     Immortal lyrics and immortal strains,     For stars to chant together as they swing     About the holy centre where God dwells.     Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill     To give it form or colour?    Unto thee     It may be given to paint upon the skies     Astounding dawns and sunsets, framed by seas     And mountains; or to fashion and adorn     New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes     To tint their velvet garments.    Oftentimes     Methinks behind a beauteous flower I see,     Or in the tender glory of a dawn,     The presence of some spirit who has gone     Into the place of mystery, whose call,     Imperious and compelling, sounds for all     Or soon or late.    So many have passed on -     So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims     Unrealised, who could not be content     As idle angels even in paradise.     The unknown Michelangelos who lived     With thoughts on beauty bent while chained to toil     That gave them only bread and burial -     These must find waiting in the world of space     The shining timbers of their splendid dreams,     Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and towers,     Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise     Their glad hosannas to the God Supreme.     And will there not be gardens glorious,     And mansions all embosomed among blooms,     Where heavenly children reach out loving arms     To lonely women who have been denied     On earth the longed-for boon of motherhood?     Surely God has provided work to do     For souls like these, and for the weary, rest.