Patmos

ANNIE DINSMORE MC CLURE

THE day I faced toward my Father's house
I turned away from mortal blandishments,
And after each day's travel pitched my tents
Toward Patmos.

This is the journey's long itinerary:
Here a friend left me; there a hope turned dust;
Here I lost treasure I had learned to trust;
I parted daily from pleasure, for I must
Reach Patmos.

Not willingly I trod the thorny road;
The strong impulsion was not from within;
It was a Voice that cried above the din
Of this poor heart's desire, bidding me win
To Patmos.

There is naught good or true on any hand!
I dare not look around—upward I gaze:
And now, quite close and clear, I see the blaze
Of the apocalyptic city bright with praise—
At Patmos.

Had I but lifted up my eyes, those bands
Of singing ones were with me all the way,
Waving above me benedictory hands;
There was no need to travel burning sands
To Patmos.