 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
THE LADDER OF ANGELS.
When Jacob slept in Bethel, and there dreamed
Of angels ever climbing and descending
A ladder, whose last height of splendor seemed
With glory of the Ineffable Presence blending,
The place grew sacred to his reverent thought:
He said, “Lo! God is here. I knew it not.”
Of angels ever climbing and descending
A ladder, whose last height of splendor seemed
With glory of the Ineffable Presence blending,
The place grew sacred to his reverent thought:
He said, “Lo! God is here. I knew it not.”
And wherefore did they fold their wings of light,
Of swiftness, and of strength, those beings holy,
And up to dawn celestial, through earth's night,
Like mortals, step by step, go toiling slowly?
Was it to teach themselves the painful way
Man's feet must take to their familiar day?
Of swiftness, and of strength, those beings holy,
And up to dawn celestial, through earth's night,
Like mortals, step by step, go toiling slowly?
Was it to teach themselves the painful way
Man's feet must take to their familiar day?
Or was it that the traveler, laid asleep
On his stone pillow, with an inward seeing,
Should learn how mightiest spirits reach the steep
And glorious possibilities of being?
Not by a visionary flight sublime,
But up the foot-worn ladder-rounds of time.
On his stone pillow, with an inward seeing,
Should learn how mightiest spirits reach the steep
And glorious possibilities of being?
Not by a visionary flight sublime,
But up the foot-worn ladder-rounds of time.
Foretold they His descent, the Son of God,
Who humbly clothed Himself in vestments mortal,
And so, encumbered with our weakness, trod
With us the stairway to His Father's portal;
To life whose inner secret none can win
Save by surmounting earthliness and sin?
Who humbly clothed Himself in vestments mortal,
And so, encumbered with our weakness, trod
With us the stairway to His Father's portal;
To life whose inner secret none can win
Save by surmounting earthliness and sin?
The patriarch's vision,—not for him alone
Lighted that golden mystery his slumber;
Beneath it slept a world of souls unknown:
When God sets up a sign, no man may number
Its meanings infinite. Who runneth reads,
And finds the interpretation that he needs.
Lighted that golden mystery his slumber;
Beneath it slept a world of souls unknown:
When God sets up a sign, no man may number
Its meanings infinite. Who runneth reads,
And finds the interpretation that he needs.
Wherever upward, even the lowest round,
Man by a hand's help lifts his feebler brother,
There is the house of God and holy ground:
The gate of heaven is Love; there is none other.
When generous act blooms from unselfish thought,
The Lord is with us, though we know it not.
Man by a hand's help lifts his feebler brother,
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The gate of heaven is Love; there is none other.
When generous act blooms from unselfish thought,
The Lord is with us, though we know it not.
This ladder is let down in every place
Where unto nobler virtues men aspire;
Our human lineaments gain angel grace,
Leaving behind low aim and base desire:
Deserts of earth are changed to Bethel thus;
The vision is for every one of us.
Where unto nobler virtues men aspire;
Our human lineaments gain angel grace,
Leaving behind low aim and base desire:
Deserts of earth are changed to Bethel thus;
The vision is for every one of us.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |