On Going to Heaven Alone

High in the hills the wild bird hath its nest,
And utters loud its melodies of song;
But vain its music, if no other breast
Is there to mate it, and its notes prolong.

And so in heaven, think not to dwell alone,
In cold and hopeless solitude apart;
For heaven is love; and love would leave its throne,
If at its side there were no other heart.

Then heaven-ward soar, but carry others there;
And learn, that heaven is giving and receiving;
It hath no life, which others do not share;
Its  life doth live by its great art, of giving.

Heaven is the heart, to other love-hearts beating;
'Tis open arms, to arms of fondness rushing;
'Tis songs, with other songs in concert meeting;
'Tis fountains into other fountains gushing.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LVIII.