eart within his breast
Must not search within a scene where naught is at one moment's rest.

Lift your eyes _above_ the heavens to a sphere as pure as fair;
There, no spot of earth's defilement, never fleck of sin-stain there.
Linger not to gaze on Angels, Principalities, nor Powers;
Brighter visions yet shall greet you, higher dignities are ours.

All night's golden constellations dimly shine as day draws on,
And the moon must veil her beauties at the rising of the sun.
Let the grove be wrapt in silence as the nightingale outflings
Her unrivaled minstrelsy, th' eclipse of every bird that sings.

Michael, Israel's Prince, is glorious, clad in panoply of war;
*"Who is as the God of Israel" is his challenge near and far;
But a higher still than Michael soon shall meet your raptured gaze,
And ye shall forget his glories in _your_ Captain's brighter rays.

* "Michael" means "Who is as God."

List a moment to the music of the mighty Gabriel's voice,
With its message strange and tender, making Mary's heart rejoice.
Then on-speed, for sweeter music soon expectant faith shall greet:
His who chained another Mary willing captive at His feet.

But, let mem'ry first glance backward to the scenes "beneath the sun,"
How the fairest earthly landscape echoed soon some dying groan.
There the old-creation's story, shared between the dismal Three:
Sin and Suffering and Sorrow summed that Babel's history.

Now the contrast--vain ye listen for one jarring note to fall;
For each dweller in that scene's in perfect harmony with all.
Joy has here expelled all sadness, perfect peace displaced all fears--
All around that central Throne makes the true "music of the spheres."

Now upsoar ye on faith's pinion, leave all creature things behind,
And approach yon throne of glory. Love in Light ye there shall find;
For with thrill of joy behold One--woman-born--upon that Throne,
And, with deepest self-abasement, in _His_ beauties read your own.

Joyful scan the glories sparkling from His gracious Head to Feet;,
Never one that does not touch some tender chord of memory sweet;
And e'en heaven's music lacks till blood-bought ones _their_ voices raise
High o'er feebler angel choirs; for richer grace wakes nobler praise.

Vain the quest amongst the thronging of the heavenly angel band
For one trace of human kinship, for one touch of human hand;
'Mongst those spirits bright, et