I shall hear the singing in the garden, and the shout upon the
hillside--"
God said, "It may not be;" he pointed.
And I cried, "If I may not stay in Heaven, then let me go down to Hell, and
I will grasp the hands of men and women there; and slowly, holding one
another's hands, we will work our way upwards."
Still God pointed.
And I threw myself upon the earth and cried, "Earth is so small, so mean!
It is not meet a soul should see Heaven and be cast out again!"
And God laid his hand on me, and said, "Go back to earth: that which you
seek is there."
I awoke: it was morning. The silence and darkness of the night were gone.
Through my narrow attic window I saw the light of another day. I closed my
eyes and turned towards the wall: I could not look upon the dull grey
world.
In the streets below, men and women streamed past by hundreds; I heard the
beat of their feet on the pavement. Men on their way to business; servants
on errands; boys hurrying to school; weary professors pacing slowly the old
street; prostitutes, men and women, dragging their feet wearily after last
night's debauch; artists with quick, impatient footsteps; tradesmen for
orders; children to seek for bread. I heard the stream beat by. And at
the alley's mouth, at the street corner, a broken barrel-organ was playing;
sometimes it quavered and almost stopped, then went on again, like a broken
human voice.
I listened: my heart scarcely moved; it was as cold as lead.
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