قراءة كتاب Poems of Progress and New Thought Pastels

Between the little Here and larger Yonder,
There is a realm (or so one day I read)
Where faithful spirits love-enchained may wander,
Till some remembering soul from earth has fled.
Then, reunited, they go forth afar,
From sphere to sphere, where wondrous angels are.

Not many spirits in that realm are waiting;
Not many pause upon its shores to rest;
For only love, intense and unabating,
Can hold them from the longer, higher quest.
And after grief has wept itself to sleep,
Few hearts on earth their vital memories keep.

Should I pass on, across the mystic border,
Let thy love link me to that pallid land;
I would not seek the heavens of finer order
Until thy barque had left this coarser strand.
How desolate such journeyings would be,
Though straight to Him, were they not shared by thee.

Wert thou first called (dear God, how could I bear it?)
I should enchain thee with my love, I know.
Not great enough am I to free thy spirit
From all these tender ties, and bid thee go.
Nor would a soul, unselfish as thine own,
Forget so soon, and speed to heaven alone.

On earth we find no joy in ways diverging;
How could we find it in the worlds unseen?
I know old memories from my bosom surging,
Would keep thee waiting in that Land Between,
Until together, side by side, we trod
A path of stars, in our great search for God.

LOVE’S MIRAGE

Midway upon the route, he paused athirst
   And suddenly across the wastes of heat,
   He saw cool waters gleaming, and a sweet
Green oasis upon his vision burst.
A tender dream, long in his bosom nursed,
   Spread love’s illusive verdure for his feet;
   The barren sands changed into golden wheat;
The way grew glad that late had seemed accursed.

She shone, the woman wonder, on his soul;
   The garden spot, for which men toil and wait;
      The house of rest, that is each heart’s demand;
But when, at last, he reached the gleaming goal,
   He found, oh, cruel irony of fate,
      But desert sun upon the desert sand.

THE NEED OF THE WORLD

I know the need of the world,
   Though it would not have me know.
It would hide its sorrow deep,
   Where only God may go.
Yet its secret it can not keep;
It tells it awake, or asleep,
It tells it to all who will heed,
And he who runs may read.
   The need of the world I know.

I know the need of the world,
   When it boasts of its wealth the loudest,
When it flaunts it in all men’s eyes,
   When its mien is the gayest and proudest.
Oh! ever it lies—it lies,
For the sound of its laughter dies
In a sob and a smothered moan,
And it weeps when it sits alone.
   The need of the world I know.

I know the

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