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!