An Apologue

It was a goodly Apple,
The topmost on the Tree,
That golden grew, and sweet all through,
As Fruit that few could see.

Soft in God's smile it glisten d,
A Crown that might be given,
To man, if he would soar and win
The Woman nighest Heaven.

Ah! many sighed with longing,
To see the fruitage drop,
But no one climbed to gather it
From off the tall tree-top!

And many ran for Apples
That were rolled along the sod;
But this, which did but tempt toward Heaven,
Was left alone for God.