And I looked at the crown: then a longing seized me. Like the passion of a mother for the child whom death has taken; like the yearning of a friend for the friend whom life has buried; like the hunger of dying eyes for a life that is slipping; like the thirst of a soul for love at its first spring waking, so, but fiercer was the longing in me.
I cried to God, “I too will work here; I too will set stones in the wonderful pattern; it shall grow beneath MY hand. And if it be that, labouring here for years, I should not find one stone, at least I will be with the men that labour here. I shall hear their shout of joy when each stone is found; I shall join in their triumph, I shall shout among them; I shall see the crown grow.” So great was my longing as I looked at the crown, I thought a faint light fell from my forehead also.
God said, “Do you not hear the singing in the gardens?”
I said, “No, I hear nothing; I see only the crown.” And I was dumb with longing; I forgot all the flowers of the lower Heaven and the singing there. And I ran forward, and threw my mantle on the earth and bent to seize one of the mighty tools which lay there. I could not lift it from the earth.
God said, “Where hast THOU earned the strength to raise it? Take up thy mantle.”
And I took up my mantle and followed where God called me; but I looked back, and I saw the crown burning, my crown that I had loved.
Higher and higher we climbed, and the air grew thinner. Not a tree or plant was on the bare rocks, and the stillness was unbroken. My breath came hard and quick, and the blood crept within my finger-tips. I said to God, “Is this Heaven?”
God said, “Yes; it is the highest.”
And still we climbed. I said to God, “I cannot breathe so high.”
God said, “Because the air is pure?”