Classic Poem

For three score years my wandering feet have strayed
Along a path wherein no footprint lay
Of Him, who of the cross a guide-board made
To point me out the way.

With open eyes I dreamed that I was dead —
Dead to all outward semblance, though I lay
With some old scrap of reason in my head
That would not fade away.

And peering up in wonderment I saw
My floating spirit plume its wings elate,
Yet gazing upward with a look of awe,
It seemed to hesitate.

" Go on! " I called to it. " Leap into space,
And sweep a way to glory with thy wings! "
" Alas! " it answered back, with troubled face,
" They are such trembling things! "

And hovering above me, spread them wide,
And all their glossy plumage o'er my eyes
Shook out in downy splendor, crimsondyed
With hues of Paradise.

" Nay, glorious things are they, " I cried amazed,
And veiled my vision from their dazzling light —
" So, get thee gone — their maker must be praised " —
And upward through the night

It lifted like a meteor, and sailed
Across the gulf of darkness like a flame,
While down the smoldering wake behind it trailed
The ashes of my name.

It called to me — not larger than a flake
Of starlight did it glimmer through the gloom —
" Pray for me, " fell the voice, " for Jesus' sake!
I see the heavens bloom. "

And loathful to myself I whispered then,
As wholly from my gaze the glimmer went —
" O Lord, through Christ, receive my soul, Amen. "
And like an instrument

Of music in some heavenly tumult tipped,
Outpouring the elixir of its voice,
Down-showering upon my senses dripped
The utterance, " Rejoice!

" God listens, for the angels at the door
Are swarming out and in and out again,
And o'er and round about me evermore
They sing " Good will to men!" "

Then suddenly the voice in quaverings
Fell wailingly — " Alas! for I alone
Of all the glorious throng have tarnished wings
That Heaven will not own.

" The angel Truth has pityingly said
That every plume impure Christ will condemn,
And that the stain self-righteousness is red
As blood on all of them. "

Then to my soul I cried aloud: " Return
That I may bow my head in holier prayer,
And all the recompense of good I earn
Shall blossom everywhere. "

" Not so. " It answered, as in some surprise —
" The angel Faith has whispered " Look above,"
And shading with her wings my dazzled eyes,
Points out the angel Love,

" Who, weeping, bends above me, and her tears
Baptize me, and her sister Mercy trips
Along the golden clouds, and Christ appears
With sorrow on His lips " —

Then silence, and as one who vainly wars
With inner strife: " Come back to me! " I cried,
And pealing down a pathway of the stars
A ringing voice replied —

" Now is thy soul's probation so complete
It may but answer thee with one farewell " ;
And, filtered through the gloom, lo! at my feet
A snow-white feather fell.