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.
