Down the streets that are beams of sun
Cherubim children run;
They welcome it from the wall;
Their voices call.
But the Warder saith: "Nay, this
Is the City of Holy Bliss.
What claim canst thou make good
To Angelhood?"
"Joy," answereth it from eyes
That are amber ecstasies,
Listening, alert, elate,
Before the gate.
"Nay, brother of the sod,
What part hast thou in God?
What spirit art thou of?"
It answers: "Love,"
Lifting its head, no less
Cajoling a caress,
Our winsome collie wraith,
Than in glad faith
The door will open wide,
Or kind voice bid: "Abide,
A threshold soul to greet
The longed-for feet."
Katharine Lee BatesSigurd - Our Golden Collie