class="poem">soul, that art essential change,
Bickering beams, a flutter strange,
Lightning of thought and gust of passion,
A silver thread in this mountain range;

The waters of thy shimmering rill,
More real are they than granite hill;
Thy tremulous waves of mystic feeling
Nourish a life of enduring will.

The sun and moon from spacious height,
And stars, may crumble into night;
Why shouldst thou cease to move forever,
A living glow of eternal light?

pirit of Song, life's golden ray
That burneth in this house of clay,
Despite the stress of blast and tempest
To quench the flickering light and play;

Rapture of seraphs bright thou art,
Yet kindlest in the human heart
The fluid soul's upbreathed emotion,
Whose light shines clear as a star apart,—

A fairer light of sweeter fame
Than science knows to praise or blame,
Wherein the soul has open vision,
And feels the glow of His holy flame.

mpressions vast and vague flow in
From Somewhat that to me is kin.
Shall I assemble them all careless
In the mind's garret or waste dust-bin?

Nay. In solution in the soul's
Own hot equators, frosty poles,
I'll more and more their import cherish,
Their deeps on deeps to my shelving shoals.

O heart, with tentacles in sea,
Like oral-disked anemone,
Taste thou the wine of shoreless oceans,
And feed on food that was meant for thee!

is fit the bloodroot in white hood
Should brave the parting winter's mood,—
Come, thou, pale violet, streaked, sweet-scented,
Beside the runs of this tempered wood.

I hunger for thy gentle face,
Sweetest of all the wildwood race!
O flower, at once ideal and essence,
Why stayest thou from thy wonted place?

Thou art not dead? Nay, when death crept
Upon thy form, thy full life leapt
Defiance at the harsh destroyer,
And slept as seed! Thou hast overslept.

he sweep, O heart, of Love's account!
Hearken: "I am of life the Fount;
All are within My deeps of Being,
The toiling city, the sea, the mount.

"Yea, when thou cleav'st the pillared tree,
Raisest the stone, I am with thee;
Darkness and light, flux and becoming,
Signal My presence, and ceaselessly.

"Regard Me not as though afar;
Ope thine heart's eyes, and, lo, My Star
Burns 'neath Time's vesture, true Shekinah,
Centre and Soul of the things that are."

uperbest power with sweetness wed
The inner eye doth overspread,
And vasts of nature blend as beauty
Suffused with awe at the Fountain Head.

The stream of power that floweth here
I see in pageant of the year,
Aye shimmering as light and shadow—
A wonderment on the verge of fear!

The world's not dead but animate,
And gives as free to mean as great;
Wealth of true power is not a kingdom
Of time and place, but the soul's estate.

bove the scarred cliff's iron brow
There speeds the fruitful crooked plow;
While on the soft west wind come odors
Of plumy pine and of balsam bough.

Here at the base another sight—
It ceaseth not by day nor night—
Ormudz and Ahriman contending,
Destroyer dark and White Soul of light!

Bared by life's ever beating brine,
The rocky bases that define
Of good and ill the place of meeting,
Be bugle-call to this heart of mine!

fter the winds there is surcease;
Take courage, heart, and be at peace;
The printless beach, all combed and shining,
In beauty lies with its windrow fleece.

Impetuous as a torrent's speed
White horses raced this watery mead,
With manes of chrysoprase aflowing,
Each neighing loud to its neighbour steed.

The wastes that finger pebbly shores,
Unplowed by ship nor cut by oars,
His music wake as sweet as attar,
And flash in light as the heavenly floors.

illed oft with portents, oft withdrawn,
My inward skies, from earliest dawn
To this full hour, have borne their witness
Of one who out of the darkness shone.

The soul is dowered with awful things,
Mystic as sound of unseen wings,—
The sense of God, of Law, of Duty,
Of Life, and Destiny. Signet rings

Flash on these fingers of one hand—
The Hand of God! The mean, the grand,
Tremble beneath the fearsome covert
Till lurid sky with the Rainbow's spanned.

ho loveth not the elm tree fair,
A fountain green in summer air,
Whose tremulous spray cools the faint meadow,
And croons to all of a careless care?

It shades the city's paven way,
Where redbreast knows the white moon's ray;