47
WHITHER?
Within the portals of my heart
There lies a chamber set apart,
And I to enter there
Must first be purged of every sin—
Be purified without, within,
And girded with a prayer;
For nothing common or unclean
May ever in that room be seen,
No taint of sin or woe;
Up from the midst there runs a stair
That leads above, I know not where,
But angels come and go.
I feel the fanning of their wings,
I hear their low-breathed whisperings—
They sometimes speak my name!
And all my soul is softened, thrilled,
With holy aspirations filled
I touch the altar-flame.
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