"'Your prayer will soon be answered; but one prayer, Breathed many years by you, and many years By one you know not, must be answered first. You must go back, though for a little time, And reap the harvest of a life. To him Whom you and I have loved, say all your heart Shall move your lips to speak, and he will hear. The strength, the boldness, the persuasive power Which you may need for this, shall all be yours; For you shall have the ministry of those Whom you have seen. Speak as a dying wife Has liberty to speak to him she leaves; And tell him this--that he may know the voice That gives you your commission--tell him this: The lamb has slipped the leash by which his hand Held her in thrall, and seeks the mountain-height; And he, if he reclaim her to his grasp, Must follow where she leads, and kneel at last Upon the summit by her side. And more: Give him my promise that if he do this, He shall receive from that fair altitude Such vision of the realm that lies around, Cleft by the river of immortal life, As shall so lift him from his selfishness, And so enlarge his soul, that he shall stand Redeemed from all unworthiness, and saved To happiness and heaven.'" Her words flowed forth With the strong utterance, in truth, of one Inspired from other worlds; while pale and faint, I drank her revelations. Unbelief Had given the lie to her abounding faith, And held her vision figment of disease, Until the message of my mother fell Upon my ears. Then overcome, I wept With deep convulsions, rose and walked the room, Wrung my clasped hands, and cried with choking voice, "My mother! O! my mother!" "Gently, love! For she is with you," said my dying wife. "Nay, all of them are with us. This small room Is now the gate of heaven; and you must do That which befits the presence and the place. Come! sit beside me; for my time is short, And I have much to say. What will you do When I am gone? Will the old life of art Content you? Will you fill your waiting time With the old dreams of fame and excellence?" "Alas!" I answered, "I am done with life: My life is dead; and though my hand has won All it has striven to win, and all my heart In its weak pride has prompted it to seek Of love and honor; though success is mine In all my eager enterprise, I know My life has been a failure. I am left Or shall be left, when you, my love, are gone, Without resource--a hopeless, worthless man, Longing to hide his shame and his despair Within the grave."