I stand upon the mountain’s height And watch the starry skies. Darkened fields and points of light Are all that meet my eyes. Beneath my feet the stones stand strong, Though deaf, and dumb, and blind. I cannot see beyond my hands, And black is all behind. The wind – such wind! – near knocks me down And I cry out in fright, “I do not know if You are there, or if I am alone, But this I know – that I am here, Crying on the stone.” The wind blows cold and I grow old, The stars won’t sing for me. They stay up there in Heaven’s air. And I am left to be. But what am I? Why must I cry, These bitter rolling sobs? Loud as the wind, that enters in And echoes in my soul – Cold as the stones that form my home, And I am deaf, like them. A touch I feel upon my hand I look and see two eyes. A face like mine, with nose and ears And lips and chin like mine! And shoulders square, with arms – full, strong – And hands that reach for mine. “Now come, small one,” he says to me, “and stand upon my back.” With old gray hands I do obey, Though youthful they become. Upon the touch of that dear one My age is melt away. And youthful strength does fill my arms, And back, and feet, and legs. Til I behold before my eyes The stars come down to me. And reaching up I catch in hand A rope – which now I climb. But there below I see the one Still bending ‘neath my load. And age, and time, and illness too Seem laden on his back. “Come up!” I call, “Go on!” He says And I must leave him there. I climb and climb the starry strand For days, and months, and years. And I forget the man below – Who gladly took my tears – Til I recall, once in a while, That face – those arms – my fears. And new tears fall like drops of rain, For him, my humble friend. Then light! Light! Light! Before my eyes! Bright wide, and silver lined! A splendid hall above it all, The wind, the stones, the rain. And stars here sing – like wind, yet sweet, And each is lovely, fair. But still I weep, and still I cry, For him who sits below. “Why weep you so?” the stars do ask, “Do you not like our song?” Through tears I tell them of my friend, Who brought me to this place. “Oh! Oh!” One cries, a little child, “Come, come, oh come at once!” She leads me through the crystal halls Her hand, sweet, strong, in mine. Up, up, we climb, bright stairs this time, And opens she a door. “My friend!” I hear, and know at once, the name is meant for me. And looking up I see the one Who died – below – for me.
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