Classic Poem

The thing we long for, that we are
For one transcendent moment,
Before the Present, poor and bare,
Can make its sneering comment.
Still, through our paltry stir and strife,
Glows down the wished Ideal,
And longing molds in clay what Life
Carves in the marble Real.

To let the new life in, we know
Desire must ope the portal;
Perhaps the longing to be so
Helps make the soul immortal.
. . . . . . . . .

Longing is God's fresh, heavenward will
With our poor earthward striving;
We quench it, that we may be still
Content with merely living;
But, would we learn that heart's full scope
Which we are hourly wronging,
Our lives must climb from hope to hope
And realize our longing.