Yakov lay down with stones beneath his head
Between Beersheva and Haran somewhere
And dreamed a ladder reaching heavenward.
And the ladder was Moriah, Sinai, the altar stair,
The slope of history, and his own being;
And the angels on it going up and down
Were prophets, priests, kings, all the seen and unseen
Forces, threads on the loom. But over all stood One.
He woke, and the stones beneath his head were one stone.
Whatever tears had fallen and would have to fall --
Esav’s and Leah’s, Rahel’s and his own --
He knew he would make something of it all
No hands could undo. Now east, west, south and north
Stood round the stone that stood for Yakov’s going forth.