Classic Poem

Should I win to paradise (since even sinners enter there),
I shall not seek the high saints with crown and aureole,
But I shall find the humble ones, the healèd ones, that centre there,
Who followed through all gratitude the love that made them whole.

He who once was blind shall tell me of his sight again,
Tell me of the glory that flooded land and sea,
When across his opened eyes surged in golden light again
The yellow sands—the blue waves—the sun of Galilee.

I shall not seek the martyrs, the staunch souls victorious,
Those who won to ecstasy from faggot and from rod;
But I shall seek the simple folk in no fashion glorious,
The broken straws of mankind that proved the winds of God.

He who once was dumb shall tell me his first word again;
He who long was helpless shall tell his joy to me
When first his bonds were broken and his bound limbs stirred again—
He shall tell me of the word and touch that made him free.

Never saint nor martyr, when heaven opened wide to him,
Knew a greater joy than these whom I shall seek therefore;
And a little lad shall tell me what first his mother cried to him,
When he who limped out sighing, ran shouting through the door.