Classic Poem

A voice descended to me from a great height,
A voice of fierce command, a voice of tender appeal,
A familiar voice, a voice I was bound to recognize —
Ah yes, my own voice, my own voice, descending from the great height,
My own voice hailing me and crying in accents of fate to me:
Come up where you belong! come up where you belong!

And so I listened and was told the plain truth about myself
Why do I stand back as if I was of no account?
Why do I give room for the trees to grow and refuse to take room for my soul to grow?
Why am I afraid of love and afraid to let love grow?
Why am I afraid of justice and afraid to let justice grow?
Why am I afraid of the heart and afraid to let the heart grow?
Why do I stay down here afraid when I should be way up there without a fear?
Why am I afraid to write the right songs and afraid to let the right songs grow?
Why am I afraid to paint the right pictures and afraid to let the right pictures grow?
I hear the voice cry to my picture: Come up where you belong!
I hear the voice cry to my art however it dallies: Come up where you belong!
I have stayed — I have stayed — and now the voice is imperative:
When I have done the worst my voice is still imperative for the best
The Lord your self is there and calls: Come up where you belong!
And though you do not hear the Lord your self still calls,
And though you hear and do not go the Lord your self still calls,
And what you cannot do unaided you can do when you help your self
The biggest things always take you up and up —
The biggest you always cries to the smallest you: Come up where you belong!
And when your art stands back cries,
And when your daily work stands back cries,
And when your book stands back cries,
And when anything you do stands back cries,
For no one and nothing is finally to be deserted below the highest plane,
And one time or other everything rises to the level of the eternal call:
Come up where you belong! come up where you belong!
Rises to the level of the eternal call.

I see your soul on the great crest of its faith standing ready to receive you:
The way up may seem hard and hopeless but there is a way and you will climb:
I do not expect you to make excuses and stay where you are,
I expect you to cry to your soul's cry the immortal here!
Oh God! I am persuaded! I depart! I go at last to my soul!
I cut the chains that bind — I demand to be free, to be free!
The last income I cut, the last success I cut, the last song and picture I cut,
I go where I hear the voice, my voice, that calls me up!
I emerge from the difficult tangles of service to the clear worship of the steep beyond:
Nothing can hold me back — the soul calls in my own voice:
Dare I say no to my own voice from the giddy ascent?
I go without burdens, I tear myself loose from the bribes of the causeway —
Nothing can now delay my passage, nothing can now come between me and my soul:
My soul up there belongs to me — I will have it — I will possess its last eminence:
O soul do you not hear me? Hello soul! I come! I come!
You will not need to wait much longer to embrace me —
I am on the way — my eyes look up, up, into your affirming face —
I hear your cry and I am on the way to make it good O my soul!
Come up where you belong! come up where you belong!