To him who plows this heaven-domed main!
Thy starry eyes look down all-wistful
On souls that toy with a tangled skein.

{44}

Man's highest word, as God's above,
The golden word of words, is love;
Its whisper is the soul's one rapture,
Its voice the voice of the brooding dove.

Immortal rose of joy elate,
Thy perfume's waft by palace gate
Or hovel door, in cloud or sunshine,
That breath of Eden which all hearts wait.

Ensouled in clay man's glory is,
Yet love dilates this soul of his
Till chrysalis of earth be shattered,
And comes the answer to Psyche's quiz.

{45}

Love bows herself in holy prayer
To worship ever the All Fair;
She coins her heart in largess golden,
And beggars self on her altar-stair.

Love lifts her hands that, liker yet
To One whom on the way she met,
All hearts may glow, as sea to sky light,
Till earth shall never its heaven forget.

Love bears upon her ardent breast
The fainting ones in east and west,
And yearning cries: Let come Thy kingdom,
Be Thou of sorrowing hearts the guest.

{46}

As on a hill-top near the sun
The stars are unseen, every one,
While from its base within the valley
Their festal pomp is e'en now begun;

So lowly lives 'mid shadows passed
Have higher skies above them massed,
See galaxies and constellations--
The many mansions o'er them englassed.

Encamped am I; earth's not my home.
The glory flashing 'neath yon dome,
Refusing to be leashed, like music,
Supernal is, and it beckons, Come!

{47}

Sunshine, O soul, is not a mood--
Open the life unto the good.
The great sun globes itself at morning
In dewy lawns, but 'tis dark in wood.

Up, up, and purge thy spirit's sight.
See wheeling wings, superb in flight,
Of golden eagle's aspiration!
E'en thus aspire to the Central Light.

In loom divine the clouds are wove,
And shot with hues of irised dove,
The blinding shafts of light to temper
With airy curtains of Love's own love.

{48}

A bird on sudden, as I write,
Through open door in eager flight
Seeks refuge from a falcon's talons,
Upon my breast, in its fearful plight.

Slight bird and dark in olive green,
With yellow throat, thy living sheen
Doth come and go with thy heart's throbbing,--
Safe, safe art thou from his talons keen!

I am as God to thee, poor thing!
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