The Mountain Top

The Mountain Top

by Lilian Leveridge

The summer sun lay golden on the 

mountain,

And soft about us blew

The elfin winds, the wild, free winds, that 

morning 

I wandered there with you.

As us and up to higher levels tending

We slowly passed along,

Upon the slippery steeps I did not waver--

Your hand was firm and strong.

We gained the heights. The all-encircling

vastness

Our quickening pulses thrilled.

With all the glory, all the wordless wonder,

Our kindred souls were filled.

Above us and around us stretched the heav-

ens,

And far and far away,

In misty, opalescent shadows melting,

The dim horizon lay.

Up from the town, to mellow music softened,

There rose a murmurous din,

As o'er the waves, wind-kissed and sunbeam-

silvered,

We watched the boats come in.

But longer than the fair and pleasant pic-

ture,

In sunlight round us spread,

Within my heart will live the vibrant music

Of gracious words you said:

"We may not reach the goal of our en-

deavor

Before the sun goes down;

Yet you and I will upward press, and ever

Be worthy of our crown.

"No toil is lost no energy is wasted,

Our striving is not vain,

E'en though we win no shining wreath of lau-

rel,

No proud, far heights attain.

"Thy are not dead, the seeds of hope we

scattered

Along the barren years,

Though yet there springs no blossom of re-

joicing, 

No golden fruit appears.

"Not in the prize, though lovely and allur-

ing, 

Our best reward must be.

Is not the strength that comes alone from

struggle

Enough for you and me?

"Enough to have uplifted by our message

One life for one brief hour;

Out of one heart a weed to have uprooted,

And planted there a flower;

"Enough if we a helping hand have given,

Have strengthened faltering feet,

Have shed about us ever the aroma

Of kindness rare and sweet."

Enough! and yet the distant beacons beckon,

The shining steeps allure.

We long to breath--the impulse is of

Heaven--

Those airs serene and pure;

To stand beside the noble souls who con-

quered,

Who would not be downcast,

Who, after all the heartache and the failures,

Have won success at last.

Some day--who knows?--after the toil and 

patience,

The conflict long and tense,

There yet may come to us life's crowning

glory

Of richest recompense.