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Copyright, 1915 
 By Eugene Foster McSpedden 
 

 s 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Coleridge has truly said that all civilized nations agree that the 
 writing of poetry is worthy of the efforts of even the greatest genius. 
 Who writes but one great poem — a poem that shall speak to poster- 
 ity — does not live in vain. If I have attempted to accomplish such 
 a work (and if I have not, my avSpiration as a poet is assuredly not 
 very lofty) but failed in the achievement of it, I should at least be 
 given credit, as I see it, for so worthy a desire, purpose and effort. 
 On the night before the battle of Quebec, after having repeated 
 Gray's Blegy to his comrades. General Wolf declared that he had 
 rather be the author of that poem than to be victor in the impending 
 battle. Let me but write even one poem that shall speak persuasive- 
 ly and with appropriate language and noble sentiment to the minds 
 and hearts of the true and good, or those that would be — but one 
 poem that shall live in the hearts of posterity, and be registered in 
 Heaven — and I will content me with but little of this world's goods 
 or approval. Yea, let me live nobly and for a worthy and noble 
 purpose, though I should have but one stool to sit upon and one ta- 
 ble as did Epictetus, and no home wherein to lay my head, as did 
 Christ. Though I should live alone and depart unhonored and un- 
 sung, let me have the consciousness in my heart of attempting to 
 achieve something great and good and beautifully impressive in its 
 moral worth and persuasiveness. 
 
 Rousseau said a very significant thing when he declared: ' 'What- 
 ever my apparent success there is one reward that can not fail me. 
 That reward I shall find in the bottom of my heart." However 
 others may regard my productions, I already have my reward in the 
 consciousness of an honorable purpose and honest effort in my 
 work, and in the pleasure, and, I believe, no small profit that I have 
 derived from the composition of poetry. Many hours have I thus 
 whiled away very pleasantly, that otherwise might have passed by 
 rather wearily. And while I have always written to myself and 
 for myself, yet it has not been without a desire and somewhat falter- 
 ing hope that my poetry, some way, sometime, might speak not un- 
 acceptably to the souls of others. Every true poet, I believe, is 
 prompted by an insistent impulse, natural or divine or both, to un- 
 fold his thoughts, convictions and feelings in rythmic and musical 
 numbers. He writes because he must. No author, I suppose, is 
 entirely indifferent as to the reception of his productions by the 
 world, but the greater his soul and the larger his vision, the less 
 will he be solicitous about such things. Neither do I believe that 
 any man, who is really born to write, is without a calm assurance 
 
2 PREFACE. 
 
 deep in his own soul that the world will not lose his work, and that 
 in Heaven 's good time it will come to its own. 
 
 I am free to acknowledge my indebtedness, first to our common 
 Creator, and next to the various authors whom I have read. Liter- 
 ature is most emphatically a creature of evolution, and we build 
 more or less of the material and on the foundation of our prede- 
 cessors. To strive to be very original is always to be very narrow. 
 The art of writing well, especially in this age, as I see it, does not 
 consist in forever trying to say something new any more than in 
 giving a new and, if possible, a better setting and combination to 
 something already told. The best and broadest writers, I believe, 
 while they do not attempt at any time to adopt the methods, lan- 
 guage or sentiments of others, except where they point it out, 
 neither do they especially try to avoid doing so, at least at times 
 when it comes perfectly natural to them. Whatever rings true to 
 my inner consciousness and comes clear to my understanding, in a 
 deep sense, is truly mine, however often others may have so felt 
 and seen. All truth and the language of all truth are inate in the 
 very nature of things and belong to him who can see and interpret 
 them well, irrespective of how many others may have done so be- 
 fore him. The old stars speak the same old language age after 
 age. Shall I refuse my own interpretation because another has 
 heard the same and similarly interpreted? "I know very well," 
 says Montaigne, "how impudently I myself at every turn attempt 
 to equal myself to my thefts." But Montaigne had far more orig- 
 inality, I presume, than most of men. But to attempt to cover one's 
 self with another's robe (and here I speak somewhat after Montaigne, 
 but he is too great I am sure to object) is a piece of petty meanness 
 of which only a very small man will be guilty. 
 
 I know too well my own limitations and the defects of my poems 
 to have other than a modest opinion of their merits. My feeling for 
 them is rather one of affection such as a father might feel for his 
 children to whose imperfections he is not blind. Alas, how much 
 do we need to ask indulgence for the best that any of us can do in 
 this present state. "The best that we do and are just God forgive, " 
 said Wordsworth. That is the language of one alone who has looked 
 into eternity and caught a vision of the Infinite. 
 
 For the modest manner in which I begin the publication of my 
 poems in a collected form, I have no apologies. I send my songs 
 forth as Noah sent the dove from the ark, and if they should find 
 no other resting place in the weary ocean of human life for the soles 
 of their feet, they shall always have a welcome retreat in the heart 
 of their plain, plodding author, who is glad to be numbered among 
 God's great common people, and among whom he is more desirous 
 that his poems should find a kindly reception. 
 
 Eugene McSpedden. 
 
 W'Ci.A381883 
 
 FEB 25 1915 
 
NATURE'S DIVINE SUGGESTIVENESS. 
 
 The heavens declare the glory of God; 
 The firmament sheweth his handiwork. 
 Day unto day uttereth speech, 
 And night unto night sheweth knowledge. 
 
 —The Bible. 
 So long as I may see one star 
 
 Hurl lances of light through the dark halls of night, 
 As it marches o'er fields of heaven afar; 
 So long as I may behold the moon 
 Climb up in all her modest glory. 
 Treading beneath her feet the gloom 
 Of night, as soberly she walks o'er me; 
 And, mayhap, in obeisance proud, 
 "Stooping through a fleecy cloud," 
 Which does 'round about her trail 
 lyike a sweet bride's silver veil. 
 While her gleaming robe is streaming 
 Wide o'er the heaven, and she is beaming 
 Like a beauteous angel dreaming. 
 On a couch of gold. 
 Of joys manifold — 
 So long shall I feel that God is there 
 In his paradise above, 
 Keeping us, with special care, 
 'Neath his brooding wings of love, 
 And in reverence I will bow 
 To the God, as I do now, 
 While from the eternity, 
 Whispering through aisles of immensity, 
 A still small voice speaks to me 
 Of the passing beauty 
 Of worshiping through love, more than from sense of duty. 
 
the: rural maid. 
 
 THE RURAL MAID. 
 
 I knew lier in the long ago, 
 
 A simple rural maid, 
 And oft o'er happy hill and dale 
 
 Together we have strayed. 
 
 Her gentle voice, her pleasant smile, 
 
 Her bright and sparkling eye 
 A sunny gladness gave the earth, 
 
 A glory to the sky. 
 
 And youth will love, and youth will dream. 
 
 And down the years to be 
 A golden bliss awaited us — 
 
 Which we should never see! 
 
 Yes, youth will love and youth will dream, 
 
 But death is deaf and cold; 
 There is a mound, a lonely mound — 
 
 But why should the rest be told? 
 
 TRUE GREATNESS. 
 
 Think not in shining hoards of silver and gold. 
 
 Or in broad acres of landed estate, 
 Consists the wealth of a God-created soul, 
 
 Is a man or woman made noble or great; 
 The hollow pomp of wealth, its deceptive sheen. 
 
 May cloak a soul narrow, ignoble and mean. 
 
 Honor, virtue and truth and lofty thought, 
 
 Aspirations pure and all sublime — 
 These are riches not to be sold or bought 
 
 Or swallowed by the hungry stream of time, 
 But such as brighten forever on its silent wave 
 
 And glow in immortal beauty beyond the grave. 
 
 Thrice happy and blest is he who still can find. 
 Though poor in obscure and lowl}^ state, 
 
 Contentment in his wealth of soul and mind — 
 Poor but rich and low but great — 
 
 Who rests in God, whose unfettered thoughts can rise 
 Above base glittering bonds, and them despise. 
 
 Who prizes nature's jewels scattered out 
 To glad his thoughtful, seeing eye, 
 
true: grkatnejss. 
 
 In immensities revolving him about, 
 
 Discovered worlds of treasures lie. 
 These, these are his heritage, all he surveys. 
 
 Enrich his mind and heart and gladden his days. 
 
 Earth's lord is he, free, independent still; 
 
 Untrammeled by greed's baser power. 
 Nature's priest, he enjoys her at his will, 
 
 And in flying worlds or nodding flowers, 
 In the laughing brooklet or solemn moaning sea — 
 
 In all he beholds his empire vast and free! 
 
 With soul, whose windows open to the divine 
 
 In God's great marvelous world all 'round, 
 Undwarfed by avarice, ennobled by thoughts sublime, 
 
 He draws from the fathomless profound 
 Of vastness — inspiration — into greatness grows, 
 
 As expands the rising oak or unfolding rose. 
 
 Wise mother nature knows her own free born, 
 
 And, with maternal affections true. 
 Embraces them, and in the roseate morn 
 
 Or glowing eve, when a crimson hue 
 Suffuses the western heaven, like an angel bright 
 
 She speaks to them from seas of living light. 
 
 In her every form, in the dark driving clouds. 
 
 In picturesque mountains rising grand. 
 In glowing sun, bright stars, night's sable shroud, 
 
 The billowing seas, the life-giving land — 
 In all she teaches them as they onward plod 
 
 Great lessons, that exalt in their soul the likeness of God! 
 
 BURIED ROME. 
 
 The mistress of empires, in sullenness and gloom, 
 
 'Mid the vast, dreamy halls of the Past, with her doom, 
 
 Sits where she was hurled by the stern hand of Fate 
 Long ago, and bound in that desolate state. 
 
 O Rome! Buried deep in the ashes and dust 
 Of dead ages, to awake can you hope or trust? 
 
 Oh canst thou not scatter the overhanging clouds, 
 Tear from thy bosom the sheets and the shrouds, 
 
 And burst up thy tomb and spring to the light, 
 The arbitress of earth, with the weapons to fight 
 
BURIED ROME. 
 
 Grasped in thy hand, and rush as of old 
 To the field of battle with thy warriors bold? 
 
 Can't the voice of thy Julius make thee to hear? 
 
 Or the hand of Augustus arouse thee there? 
 Nor the might of the Pompeius thy bondage break? 
 
 Or the eloquence of Cicero from slumber awake? 
 Oh, the voices of the Csesars were hushed long ago, 
 
 And the hand of the Pompeius is ashes, we know! 
 
 Gone is the power thy state spread afar, 
 
 From the orient gate to the sunset bar 
 Crowned thee with grandeur, the mistress of the world, 
 
 To the breeze of all nations thy banner unfurled; 
 Gone are thy heroes, who rushed to the field 
 
 In a thousand battles with the conquering steel ! 
 
 Vanished thy banquets, thy triumphs and glory, 
 
 The conqueror and conquered but a dim fading story; 
 
 Vanished thy temples and palaces grand, 
 So eloquently fair from the architect's hand; 
 
 Gone are th}^ maidens so lovely and fair — 
 All, all are but dust in thy dark tomb there ! 
 
 Thus time bears onward to the dread realm of Night, 
 Empires, beauty, glory, manhood and might, 
 
 And confusedly hurl est in a mountainous heap 
 In dumb oblivion's waveless deep. 
 
 The generations of men in their onward tread 
 Shake the silent abodes of the heedless dead ! 
 
 All, all that breathe in the earth to-day, 
 
 The slow plodding, sad and the fast whirling gay. 
 
 The powers of the world, e'en this mundane ball, 
 Down time's stream are drifting, at last to fall 
 
 Into death's palling cloud, and there gloomily lie 
 Till the trumpet of God shall thunder on high. 
 
 But there is a Kingdom whose glory and might 
 
 Shall never be obscured by the black wings of night, 
 
 Where the pure, the good and the just shall be 
 All regally estated through eternity, 
 
 Nor fear the hand, the frown nor the nod 
 Of a proud potentate — the potentate is God! 
 
the: vision 
 
 THE VISION. 
 
 'Twas twiliglit time of a pleasant eve in May. 
 
 I sat alone upon a rocky bluff, 
 
 Which westward overlooked a lovely vale 
 
 That was by some declared to be enchanted. 
 
 Around me stood great tall majestic trees, 
 
 Fit place for mystic rites of ancient Druids; 
 
 And there below, the valley stretched away 
 
 In beauty, thick-grown with waving grass and flowers, 
 
 And streaked with bright, murmuring brooks. Above, 
 
 The sky was clear and the great moon was full. 
 
 I fell to brooding on the life of man. 
 
 Its tragic end and final destiny. 
 
 Within me arose strange, earnest questionings 
 
 About the future life; and hope and doubt 
 
 Alternately my soul cheered and oppressed. 
 
 Until at length, disconsolate, I cried: 
 
 Oh can it be that dreamless death 's the end 
 
 Of man; and all his longing and his hopes 
 
 Of Heaven, shall swallow the dark silent grave? 
 
 And then, without the slightest premonition. 
 
 Upon my spirit fell a sleep, or charm — 
 
 I was as one that dreameth half awake. 
 
 Now lo! the softest strains of music fell 
 
 Tremulous from a choir invisible, 
 
 Which seemed enthroned among the listening stars; 
 
 Increasingly sweet and clear they flowed. Ne'er had 
 
 I heard before such trancing harmony. 
 
 My soul was lifted by the dulcet sound, 
 
 And every grosser feeling fled away. 
 
 And now an angel dropt from out a cloud. 
 
 Which stood a patch of glory in the sky; 
 
 Afar his winged brightness shone serene, 
 
 A sudden burst of strange and wondrous beauty; 
 
 And swift on snowy wings descended prone. 
 
 Until beside me he, alighting, stood. 
 
 His face was exquisitely fair and bright. 
 
 Deep-set within a cloud of golden hair; 
 
 His clear and sparkling eyes upon me beamed 
 
 Benignant, and he was robed in shining white; 
 
 His feet beside me on the rock were like 
 
 Pure snow, and were en wrapt with guaze of gold; 
 
 His form erect and noble bearing spoke 
 
the; vision 
 
 A lofty state among' the thrones of Heaven. 
 
 And overpowered by his awful presence, 
 
 Down at his feet I fell amazed and awed, 
 
 But in a voice more sweet than earthly music; 
 
 Arise, he said, O mortal and immortal! 
 
 I here am come to cheer thy drooping heart. 
 
 And reassure thy wavering hope and faith; 
 
 For Heaven has heard thy troubled questionings. 
 
 And sent me hither to resolve thy doubts. 
 
 And thus assured, I sat erect and said: 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, O kindly, blessed Angel! 
 
 Myself most highly favored by thy presence 
 
 I deem, and shall receive thy generous help 
 
 To aid me to a clearer vision, how gladly. 
 
 Of man 's great destiny beyond the tomb. 
 
 Then look to the west, he said, and outward stretched 
 
 His snowy arm, in that direction pointing. 
 
 And looking, lo! I beheld a dismal vale, 
 
 Immeasurable in length, voiceless and still, 
 
 All overhung with great black heavy clouds. 
 
 Which only lifted, now and then, and here 
 
 And there, enough for one to see that 'neath 
 
 Them there distended wide a woeful valley, 
 
 Lying along what seemed to be the verge 
 
 Of Earth, or the dim realm of earthly Time. 
 
 And now awe-struck, I saw great companies 
 
 Of human pilgrims marching thitherward. 
 
 Each one his favorite phantom chasing, heedless, 
 
 Alas! so it did seem, the greater number 
 
 Of the weird, dreadful vale before them stretched. 
 
 Some were pursuing bubbles, which, when caught, 
 
 Burst in the grasp; and some ran headlong shouting 
 
 After bright and elusive forms; still others 
 
 Were breathless chasing rolling, golden wheels, 
 
 Which oft if caught became a useless burden. 
 
 Yet others debauched in pools of nameless slime. 
 
 Until their forms were marred and souls defiled, 
 
 And they did couch about to hide in gloom. 
 
 But some with reverent faces and with eyes 
 
 Illumined by a holy fire, seemed conscious 
 
 Of that dread valley, but still were hopeful, looking 
 
 For something glorious beyond its gloom. 
 
 Wisdom was throned upon their brows, meekness 
 
THE VISION 
 
 Adorned their looks, peace sat within their souls; 
 
 A light propitious and divine e'er led 
 
 Them on by certain prophecy. And some 
 
 Were sad, and some were gay, some plodded, some whirled 
 
 Amain on wheels 'mid trappings grand; but all 
 
 In close succession moved toward that Valley, 
 
 And each, on n earing it, his chosen scheme 
 
 Forgot, and, dropping 'mid the clouds was lost 
 
 From sight; for they quick closed again and sealed 
 
 His seemingly dark doom. As some went down, 
 
 Still others followed close behind. I saw 
 
 The old, middle aged, the j^oung and beautiful, 
 
 The sad and gay, cast back one longing look. 
 
 And silent sink, nor e'er return to tell 
 
 Their strange and hidden fate. The Angel seeing 
 
 That I looked sad and curious then said: 
 
 All that breathe upon the earth at last 
 
 Must go and sink into the gloomy depths 
 
 Of yonder vale, for 'tis the Valley of Death. 
 
 My hopes all died away, as sunset glow 
 
 When dark-hooded Night approaches, stalking o'er 
 
 The eastern hills, and, rolling up a sea 
 
 Of pitchy blackness, scatters it o'er all 
 
 The blushing heavens and submissive earth. 
 
 And I exclaimed: Ah surely man is born 
 
 In vain, since thus so low his earthly end! 
 
 Now look again, replied the heavenly one, 
 
 His face more radiant than e'en at the first. 
 
 And as I looked, the upper clouds that hung 
 
 Above the Vale, began to swing apart; 
 
 And through them broke a clear propitious light, 
 
 Which seemed a radiant dawning of the day. 
 
 And as the clouds rolled backward more and more, 
 
 It brighter grew. Now lo! beyond the Valley, 
 
 I saw a vasty sea of crystal waters 
 
 Dimpling and sparkling, far as eye could see. 
 
 In the unclouded and supernal light; 
 
 Wherein, wide scattered here and there, were islands 
 
 Where flowers waved of every hue, and trees 
 
 Uplifted high their nodding bloomy heads, 
 
 And flashing streamlets ran, and musical murmurs 
 
 Floated upon the breezes. And angel forms 
 
 Most beautiful, with golden hair loose flowing, 
 
 And snowy garments fluttering in the wind. 
 
 Went wandering in fair happy groups beneath 
 
 The trees and 'mong the nodding flowers. 
 
 And all was paradisiac peace and beauty. 
 
 And high o'er it all, the unbounded firmament 
 
 A vast pavilion spread of silvery light, 
 
 Where radiant clouds were heaped up here and there, 
 
 As oft we've seen on summer days, white clouds 
 
 Piled up against the deep blue sky of earth; 
 
 But they no shadow cast, but seemed unmixed 
 
lO THE VISION 
 
 Accumulations of excessive glory. 
 
 But soon the steady, intense and unshadowed light 
 
 My sight oppressed, and turning round, I cried: 
 
 Angel, what wondrous realm is that I see? 
 What thou beholdest, smiling, he replied. 
 
 Is the unbounded and eternal regions. 
 How passingly sublime and wonderful! 
 
 1 cried. And it, he answered, shall always be 
 As grand and beautiful as now; for nothing 
 In all that heavenly clime shall ever change 
 Or fade or pass away. Now look to the right, 
 Far out across the dimpling sea, he said. 
 
 And looking, behold! I saw, with clearer vision, 
 
 Far, far across the bright translucent waves, 
 
 Uplifted high upon a shining shore, 
 
 A mighty City flashing like the sun. 
 
 Its walls were polished gold, extending round 
 
 As far as eye could see, and higher rose 
 
 Than those of ancient Babylon. And on 
 
 Their airy height stood lordly towers of pearl, . 
 
 Of sapphire and of opal, which far-glittered. 
 
 Like scintillating cones of fire, and seemed 
 
 All pendulous hung in mists of glory. But still, 
 
 Above the wall 's proud domes and pinnacles 
 
 Of mansions grand (so they seemed), within the City, 
 
 Uprose in high celestial beauty, and stretched, 
 
 Flashing and billowing in a restless glory. 
 
 Away till lost in distance all sublime. 
 
 And in the hither wall, a massive gate 
 
 Of snowy pearl on golden hinges oped 
 
 And shut self -moved, with sound harmonious. 
 
 To white-robed, radiant beings passing in 
 
 And out; and tides of music through it poured. 
 
 Dashed on the sea and flowed to us in strains 
 
 So sweet, they seemed to raise and bear the waves 
 
 Along, entranced by celestial harmony. 
 
 And o'er the glorious city, happy bands 
 
 Of shining angels, their smooth flight around 
 
 In airy circles wheeled, and wheeling, chimed 
 
 Ethereal song, which fell in melting tones. 
 
 Such as o'er Juda's hills the shepherds heard 
 
 When Christ, the Lord, was born in Bethlehem. 
 
 Now turning to the heavenly one, I exclaimed: 
 
 Tell me, O blessed Angel, what great City 
 
 Is that, proud looming beyond the crystal sea? 
 
 And who, the beautiful inhabitants? ' ' 
 
 It is, he answered, the new Jerusalem, 
 
 Of which, no doubt, you have often heard; and those 
 
 There dwelling are the angels and redeemed 
 
 Of earth, and the high King of kings is there. 
 
 Aye, I replied, I 've often heard, but oh, 
 
 What joy to thus behold it with the eye! " 
 
 Lo, now I saw a stately ship of pearl, 
 
the: vision II 
 
 With snowy sail and pennons streaming free, 
 
 Majestic sailing the unshadowed main, 
 
 From the dark Valley to the pearly Portal; 
 
 Steered by a pilot who wore a blazing crown, 
 
 Wherein large jewels shown like coals of fire. 
 
 A golden cross upon his bosom flashed. 
 
 And he was dressed, so it seemed, in snow-white flame; 
 
 And standing erect, he looked the god of the ocean. 
 
 And oh, what ship is that, I asked the Angel, 
 
 Gliding so swan-like o'er the buoyant waves, 
 
 As if instinct with self-propelling power? 
 
 We call it, he replied, the Ship of Zion, 
 
 For it transports from that dread Valley's gloom 
 
 To yonder pearly Gate all those who've entered 
 
 The Vale with garments washed and white — washed 
 
 In the shed blood of the slain Lamb of God — 
 
 The pure, the good, and beautiful of soul. 
 
 And now the ship beside the gate of Heaven 
 
 Its anchor cast; and then a radiant host 
 
 Alighted, all dressed in spotless white and crowned 
 
 With lustrous diadems; and smiling sweet. 
 
 Went sweeping through the open gateway, greeted 
 
 With sound of lyre and lute and trumpet, commingled 
 
 With songs and shouts and ringing alleluias 
 
 From raptured bands within, who met them. And as 
 
 I saw and heard them all rejoicing greatly, 
 
 My heart within me leapt with deep delight; 
 
 And answering my interrogative look: 
 
 And they, the Angel said, are some of those 
 
 Whom you but lately saw sink in the clouds. 
 
 Ah now, I cried, I see, I understand 
 
 It all, and stood o'erawed at the great scene. 
 
 Still they marched on amid the mingled sounds 
 
 I now heard ringing sweet and clear their praise 
 
 To God. All hail! they shouted, to his name, 
 
 Who rules in justice, love and mercy, hail! 
 
 We'll bow, we'll fall and worship Him, we'll bow, 
 
 We'll prostrate fall and worship at his throne. 
 
 All praise to Father, Son and Holy Ghost! 
 
 And snowy arms and robes flashed beautiful, 
 
 As they, a great procession formed, which reached 
 
 Far up within the City glorious. 
 
 And now I heard an awful voice, which said: 
 
 Welcome all ye to joys of the great King. 
 
 Then through the portal, I beheld 
 
 The streets of that proud City were of gold. 
 
 All smooth and set with jewels like the stars 
 
 Of night. Heavenly beings thronged here and there 
 
 In joyous, beautiful and shining groups; 
 
 While the clear streets their images reflected. 
 
 And through the midst of it, I saw a river 
 
 Of water, clear as crystal, gently winding 
 
 With musical murmur 'tween bright, pebbled shores. 
 
12 THE VISION 
 
 Many a mansion towered on either side 
 
 In rare magnificence and celestial splendor, 
 
 Such as now fails me to describe. Before 
 
 Their golden portals, fountains leapt and broke 
 
 In glory, and flowers nodded in supernal beauty, 
 
 And on that river's marges waved fair trees 
 
 Invitingly, in pristine loveliness 
 
 Of verdure decked, and dashed the drooping boughs 
 
 With blossoms whiter than the snow. And 'neath 
 
 Those paradisiac trees and through the mansions, 
 
 Fair ones in flowing robes, with faces bright 
 
 And jeweled hair, went joyously; while others 
 
 Sat by the river wrapt in blissful converse; 
 
 And the clear tide did seem to fold and bear 
 
 Their images away, as raptured by their beauty. 
 
 Methought I heard a thousand concordant voices 
 
 Whisper: Peace and love, and joy eternal. 
 
 And far within uprose a throne august 
 
 And awful (so I deemed from parts exposed) 
 
 Involved about and nearly hidden all. 
 
 Except the base, by rolling flashing clouds 
 
 Of glory; whereat a moment's gaze direct, 
 
 Mine eyes could not sustain, nor aught discover 
 
 Of their veiled mystery; but well I knew 
 
 Their import dread and holy. And high above 
 
 The cloud-wrapt throne, two fiery seraphims 
 
 Stood, with their twelve great wings wide spread and flashing 
 
 Upon a heap of billowy, golden clouds. 
 
 Which showed like fire and snowy fleece commingled — 
 
 Like guardian sentinels that stood to see 
 
 That naught of harm or evil should befall 
 
 The City. My vision stronger grown, I now 
 
 Saw 'round about the throne a white- robed host. 
 
 Which seemed to stand in deepest reverence. 
 
 And all took off the lustrous diadems 
 
 Which girt their shining brows and jeweled hair 
 
 And saying: Now let us worship God, they bov/ed 
 
 Lowly around the throne; and I too worshiped. 
 
 Thus for a while they humbly adored; and their 
 
 Bowed forms, white and scintillant, showed around 
 
 Upon the golden floor, how lovely. But now 
 
 Uprising, all began to sing high songs 
 
 Of praise to Heaven's eternal Majesty, 
 
 In sweetest tones, and smote a thousand harps 
 
 With deft and flying hands, and touched the chords 
 
 Of warbling lutes with white and nimble fingers. 
 
 Which leaped and danced rythmic, until the tides 
 
 Of music rose and rolled in sliding waves 
 
 Of sweet, supernal, enchanting melody; 
 
 While shouts harmonious made all Heaven ring 
 
 And echo back, and re-echo again. 
 
 Ten thousand snowy wings were scintillating; 
 
 White shining robes were swinging to and fro. 
 
THE) VISION 13 
 
 And precious jewels were flashing like the sun, 
 
 And radiant feet kept time on the starry street, 
 
 And divinest love the beauteous faces looked 
 
 Intently. It was too much; I bowed my head 
 
 And silent, wept, I was so overcome. 
 
 The gate now closed behind the entering host, 
 
 And in my soul there came a holy peace, 
 
 Born of assurance deep and calm and high. 
 
 Now dost thou think, the Angel, smiling, said, 
 
 Life is an empty show, and man was made 
 
 In vain. Then I; It's all unspeakable. 
 
 I see, I feel, but words have not to answer, 
 
 O Angel, but my gratitude and love 
 
 To God are deep and strong and shall endure. 
 
 Much you have seen, he replied, but a hundredth part 
 
 You have not seen of all beyond that vale. 
 
 And nothing there shall ever fade or perish. 
 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand years shall roll. 
 
 Then the redeemed and angels all shall be 
 
 As happy, young and beautiful as now. 
 
 How blest are they, I cried, who trust in God! 
 
 But now I bethought me of the doomed and lost, 
 
 And said, O Angel, where 's the final lot 
 
 Of all the lost — those who dishonor God? 
 
 Look backward, far to the left, he said, across 
 
 The crystal dimpling ocean there displayed. 
 
 And looking, lo! I saw great sable ships 
 
 Sailing on slow the mighty main, between 
 
 That Valley and a realm of awful gloom. 
 
 Which lay far out to the left, across the ocean. 
 
 Oh what, I said, do mean those dreadful ships? 
 
 And then, receiving no response, I turned, 
 
 And lo! the Angel and vision both had flown, 
 
 And I was alone upon the rocky bluff. 
 
 Looking across the wide enchanted valley. 
 
 The sky was clear, and the great moon was full. 
 
14 TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 TO THE EVENING STAR. 
 
 Sweet evening star, on many a still night, 
 
 From your sapphire throne far out in the west, 
 
 I've seen you shed your soft streaming light 
 On the world, embosomed in silence and rest. 
 
 When the sun has set, and the twilight time 
 Gives surcease of toil and of cankering care, 
 
 lyike a glory-robed angel from Heaven's pure clime, 
 Thou walkest those far lonely fields of air. 
 
 Generations of men have arisen in the earth, 
 Lived, struggled and toiled and sunk to decay; 
 
 But thou, unchanged from thy fire-cradled birth. 
 Hast e'er lighted the steps of departing day. 
 
 Thy bright beams gladdened the first happy pair, 
 
 As through Eden's bowers they crept in their gleaming. 
 
 And still fond maidens beautiful and fair, 
 
 Thou charmest in their lone far-away love-dreaming. 
 
 Cities have arisen, and become unknown. 
 
 Empires flourished — and perished in commotion; 
 Still thou, undimmed, through the ages hast shown, 
 
 lyike a beacon light set on eternity's ocean. 
 Symbol thou art of that unfailing Love, 
 
 Which, while the long cycles have unceasingly flown, 
 Hast nurtured and supported all below and above. 
 
 And binds our hearts to the eternal throne. 
 Thou seemest to hint in thy perennial glory. 
 
 As oft I view thee with a deep-musing eye, 
 Of that unseen home of Biblical story 
 
 Where the blessed and beautiful never shall die. 
 
 So shalt thou shine in thy lustre and beauty 
 Till crash of worlds shall the universe jar. 
 
 As an emblem of purity, of love and of duty, 
 
 Ever lighting us heavenward, sweet Evening Star! 
 
s 
 
 36 
 
 9Z9e 
 
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 7/s 
 
^s 
 
 Z 
 
 Y/s