Then went he down and dipped,
Not once, nor twice, nor thrice.
But seven times,
And he was cleansed.
Like Naaman of old we too are tried;
Success and power and riches
Oft a plague-spot leave.
As then, so now, obedience and humility
Walk hand in hand
With Christlike love and purity.
The outlines fashioned by our poor desires
Are faint indeed,
And lack the fires
Of consecration which we need
To tend assiduously
If we would emulate the pattern of the mount.
The effort sorrowful may seem,
And bleeding footsteps mark the way;
Even seventy times may be the price we pay
For healing, and the cleansing of our thought.
Yea, all unlike the perfectness of Love
Must yield to Truth's impelling sway—
Immortal Life and endless day
The prize.
So pray, and lift your eyes
Above the sod.
The ladder reaches to the skies,
And God.
