Classic Poem

Suppose, some quiet afternoon in spring,
The hour of judgement came
For me and my mistakes when journeying
Along with that defence for nullity, my name.
Suppose, while sauntering in the primrosed wood,
To body and soul's dispute a voice cried halt ,
And I that instant stood
Absolved of unfulfilment and essential fault.

Suppose this resurrection, this release,
This self-surrender wrought;
And the word heard within, Depart in peace ;
Take to the everlasting all that time has taught . . .
What, for the spiritual service some foresee
Beyond probational breath,
Would then emerge from marred and mystic me
To stand with those white presences delivered through death?