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<h2> ASPIRATION </h2>
<p>None ever climbed to mountain heights of song,<br/>
But felt the touch of some good woman’s palm;<br/>
None ever reached God’s altitude of calm,<br/>
But heard one voice cry, “Follow!” from the throng.<br/>
<br/>
I would not place her as an image high<br/>
Above my reach, cold, in some dim recess,<br/>
Where never she should feel a warm caress<br/>
Of this my hand that serves her till I die.<br/>
<br/>
I would not set her higher than my heart,—<br/>
Though she is nobler than I e’er can be;<br/>
Because she placed me from the crowd apart,<br/>
<br/>
And with her tenderness she honoured me.<br/>
Because of this, I hold me worthier<br/>
To be her kinsman, while I worship her.<br/></p>
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