by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
There is a room serene and fair,
All palpitant with light and air;
Free from the dust, world’s noise and fuss -
God’s Tower-room in each of us.
Oh! many a stair our feet must press,
And climb from self to selflessness,
Before we reach that radiant room
Above the discord and the gloom.
So many, many stairs to climb,
But mount them gently - take your time;
Rise leisurely, nor strive to run -
Not so the mightiest feats are done.
Well doing of the little things:
Repression of the word that stings;
The tempest of the mind made still
By victory of the God-like will.
The hated task performed in love -
All these are stairs that wind above
The things that trouble and annoy,
Up to the Tower-room of joy.
Rise leisurely; the stairs once trod
Reveal the mountain peaks of God;
And from its upper room the soul
Sees all, in one united whole.