Between The Gates

Between the gates of birth and death     An old and saintly pilgrim passed,     With look of one who witnesseth     The long-sought goal at last.     O thou whose reverent feet have found     The Master's footprints in thy way,     And walked thereon as holy ground,     A boon of thee I pray.     "My lack would borrow thy excess,     My feeble faith the strength of thine;     I need thy soul's white saintliness     To hide the stains of mine.     "The grace and favor else denied     May well be granted for thy sake."     So, tempted, doubting, sorely tried,     A younger pilgrim spake.     "Thy prayer, my son, transcends my gift;     No power is mine," the sage replied,     "The burden of a soul to lift     Or stain of sin to hide.     "Howe'er the outward life may seem,     For pardoning grace we all must pray;     No man his brother can redeem     Or a soul's ransom pay.     "Not always age is growth of good;     Its years have losses with their gain;     Against some evil youth withstood     Weak hands may strive in vain.     "With deeper voice than any speech     Of mortal lips from man to man,     What earth's unwisdom may not teach     The Spirit only can.     "Make thou that holy guide thine own,     And following where it leads the way,     The known shall lapse in the unknown     As twilight into day.     "The best of earth shall still remain,     And heaven's eternal years shall prove     That life and death, and joy and pain,     Are ministers of Love.