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seemed not as a dream, and yet I stood Beside Heaven's gate. Its mighty valves were loosed, And upward, from earth's tribulation came A soul, whose passport, signed in Calvary's blood, Prevailed. Around the golden threshold's verge I saw the dazzling of celestial wings, Thronging to welcome it. The towering form Of an archangel bore it company Up to God's throne. Soft on my ear their tones, Serenely wafted by ambrosial gales, Fell like rich music. "Wherefore didst thou pass Weeping along thy pilgrimage?" inquired The sinless seraph. "Thorns beset my path. I sought and found not. I obtained and mourned. I loved and lost. Ingratitude and Hate Did whet their serpent tooth upon my fame— My wealth took wing. I planted seeds of bliss, And sorrow blossomed." But the risen from earth Faultered to mark that high archangel's glance Bent downward with surprise, as though it asked "Had thy felicity no deeper root,