Classic Poem

Lowly the soul that waits
At the white, celestial gates,
A threshold soul to greet
Beloved feet.

Down the streets that are beams of sun
Cherubim children run;
They welcome it from the wall;
Their voices call.

But the Warder saith: " Nay, this
Is the City of Holy Bliss.
What claim canst thou make good
To angelhood? "

" Joy, " answereth it from eyes
That are amber ecstasies,
Listening, alert, elate,
Before the gate.

Oh, how the frolic feet
On lonely memory beat!
What rapture in a run
'Twixt snow and sun!

" Nay, brother of the sod,
What part hast thou in God?
What spirit art thou of? "
It answers: " Love, "

Lifting its head, no less
Cajoling a caress,
Our winsome collie wraith,
Than in glad faith

The door will open wide,
Or kind voice bid: " Abide,
A threshold soul to greet
The longed-for feet. "

Ah, Keeper of the Portal,
If Love be not immortal,
If Joy be not divine,
What prayer is mine?