The last day of my earthly pilgrimage
Was closing; and the end was peace; for, as
The sunset glory on the hills grew pale,
The burning fever left me - I was free
From pain - albeit my strength was ebbing fast.
And quickly' as dreams, though not confusedly,
The landscapes of my life before me rose,
From the first breath of dewy morn to that
Its sultry afternoon. Nor seem'd my past,
As often heretofore in retrospect,
A fragmentary discontinuous whole,
But one and indivisible, - a brief
Short journey, only steepest at the last.

Seven nights agone the message came for me.
The midnight chimes had struck: the echoes sank
Far in the distance, and the air grew still, -
A strange oppressive stillness. In the woods
The leaves were motionless, and on the grass
Unwavering the moonlight shadows slept,
And I was communing with solitude,
And listening to the silence; when I thought
A voice, as of an angel, spake to me,
'Thy time is come, prepare to meet thy God.'
'Twas gently spoken, yet a sudden chill
Struck to my heart; for I was scarcely more
Than midway on life's pathway, nor had thought
For long years to lay down my pilgrim's staff,
Unless the Bridegroom's voice were heard in heaven.
And was I now already summon'd home?
I ask'd, and half incredulously gazed
Upon the crystal of that starlit sky,
Until again within my spirit's depths
I seem'd to hear that subtle spiritual voice,
'Seven days, and thou shalt enter into rest.'
And then I knew it was no idle dream,
I felt that One was standing by me, whom
I saw not, and with trembling lips replied,
'Thou calledst me, O Lord, and here am I.'

That night I spent in prayer. The lamp that hung
Suspended in my chamber slowly paled
And flicker'd in its socket. But my soul
Was lit up with a clearer purer light,
The daybreak of a near eternity,
Which cast its penetrating beams across
The isthmus of my life, and fringed with gold
The mists of childhood, and reveal'd beyond
The outline of the everlasting hills.
'Twas more than half a jubilee of years
Since first I knelt a suppliant at the throne
Of mercy, and bewail'd my sins, and heard
The voice of absolution, 'Go in peace;'
And daily since that birth-time of my soul
Had I found shelter at the feet of Christ.
But in the glory of that light, aware
Of the immediate presence of my God,
I saw myself, as I had never seen,
Polluted and undone: and, clothed in shame,
Awestruck, like Peter, cried aloud, 'Depart
From me, who am a sinful man, O Lord.'
But, as I raised my eye to read His will,
I saw, as never hitherto, the cross
Irradiated with celestial light,
And love divine, unutterable, pour'd
Around the form of Him who hung thereon.
I gazed entranced, enraptured; and anew
I wash'd the dark stains of my travelling dress
White in the fountain of His blood; and then,
Methought, He laid His hand upon my head,
And whisper'd, 'Go in peace, and sin no more.'
And the words seem'd to linger in the air,
Whether an angel caught them up or not
I know not, but they seem'd to float around me,
'Sin no more, weary pilgrim, sin no more,
No more at all for ever, sin no more.'

And thus long hours of peace and prayer and praise
Pass'd noiselessly, as gilding slumber; though
That night was more to me than years of life,
If life be measured, its true gauge, by love.
I feasted upon love; I drank, I breathed
Nothing but love. But when the morning came
I knew no more what pass'd around me: earth
Sank from my view, and yet I was not free
To climb the heavens. As when the aeronaut,
Borne sunward on his too adventurous car,
At length emerging from the seas of mist
(Which circumfused long while about his path
Clung darkling, but now roll in lucid waves
Of clouds beneath him), hovers there a while,
A stranger in that crystal atmosphere,
Exiled from earth, and yet not wing'd for heaven:
So in my fever dreams I seem'd to hang
On the far confines of the world of sense,
Unconscious of my spirit's fellowship
With the Eternal Spirit. God was there:
I knew it: I was with Him. And meanwhile
His angel gently loosen'd all the cords
Of my frail tabernacle, and the tent
Flutter'd to every breeze.

Six days I lay
In that stranger borderland, so she, who watch'd
Unwearied as an angel day and night
Beside my pillow, told me when I woke
From the fruition of celestial love
To drink in, like thirsty traveller,
The sweetness of her human love once more: -
Never so sweet as now. They sin who deem
There can be discord betwixt love and love.
Six days had pass'd; and now the morning sun
Bore through the open casement all the glow
Of summer; more than six days out of seven
Since that strange midnight summons: - so I knew
My hours were number'd, and that I should see
No other sunrise on this weary world;
And gently said, intolerant of suspense,
'My wife, my darling, I am going home;
God wills it, darling, - going home to night.'
Sorely I fear'd the first shock of my words
Upon the tenderest of human hearts,
A wife's, a mother's heart. But softly laying
Her hand upon my burning brow, she said,
'I know it all, beloved husband. God
Hath spoken to me also, and hath given
These brief hours to my wrestling prayers. Enough.
To-morrow and all after-life for tears,
To-day and all eternity for love.'

And leaning then her ear close to my lips,
Her soft cheek touching mine, we spoke or thought
(A broken word was clue to many thoughts)
Of things long past, and holy memories,
That glow'd in sunlight through the mist of years,
Or cast their solemn shadow o'er the hills;
Those anniversaries, that sanctify
So many Sabbaths in a pilgrim's life:
The day that interlink'd her heart with mine,
Our ramble through a laurel greenery,
My soul full charged with its own feelings, nor
Well able to restrain their passionate flow
Into the waveless mirror of her love;
Not abloe long. The intervening years
Of tried affection and of hope deferr'd;
And then the plucking of the tree of life,
With its ambrosial fruitage and fresh flowers,
Upon our bridal day. We took and ate
And lived - God's smile upon us. Then our home,
All fragrant with parental thoughtfulness,
Close nestling by the village church, my charge;
Say rather ours: our lambs, our flock, our fold,
For I was shepherd, and she shepherdess,
And we, as one, were married to one spouse.
Indissoluble bond! names, faces, hearts
Came back upon us fresh as yesterday:
The precious seed not seldom sown with tears,
The golden grain that ripen'd here and there,
A wave-sheaf of our husbandry. And link'd
With all the memories of pastoral life
The birth-days of our children, those dear ties
That bound us ever closer each to each.
Us to our people, them and us to God.
Nor births alone: for twice the gates of pearl
Had open'd on their musical hinges, while
The angels ministrant had ta'en each time
A little tender ewe-lamb from our arms,
To nurture it, so Jesus will'd, in heaven.
And then we spoke of other blessed dead,
Akin to us by blood, akin by grace,
And friends, and fellow-travellers, whose names
Sprang to our eager lips spontaneously:
Their forms that hour were present as when last
We wrung their hands upon the shore of time.
And ever the horizon grew more clear
And wider as we gazed. Our little life
Was interwoven with the universe
Of God's eternal counsels. We were part
Of the whole family in the heaven and earth;
The many were in heaven, the few on earth;
Part of the mighty host whose foremost ranks
Long since had cross'd the river, and had pitch'd
Their tents upon the everlasting hills.
How shrunken Jordan seem'd.

The day wore fast.
My wife look'd up. I saw her anxious eye
Measuring the shadows more aslant, and read
Her thought, and whisper'd, 'Call them to us.' Soon
Our children cluster'd round my bed. Dear hearts, -
The eldest only in the bloom of spring,
The next in earliest prime of youth, the rest
In order opening like forest flowers,
A wreath of girls with brothers intertwined,
Down to the rosebud in the nurse's arms.
They were but learners in the infant school
Of sorrow, and were scarcely able yet
To spell its simplest signs. But when they caught
The meaning of their mother's words, and knew
That I was going to leave them, one low sob
Broke from them, like the sighing of the wind
That frets the bosom of a silver lake
Before a tempest. Each on the other look'd;
And every lip trembled; and tears, hot tears,
Gush'd forth, and quickly would have drench'd all eyes.
But fearing their most innocent distress
Would, like an irresistible tide, break down
The barrier of their mother's holy calm,
I raised my head upon the pillow, saying,

'Weep not, my children, that your father's work
Is over, and his travelling days are done.
For I am going to our happy home,
Jerusalem the golden, of which we
On Sabbath evenings have so often sung,
And wish'd the weary interval away
That lay betwixt us and its pearly gates.
You must not weep for me. Nor for yourselves,
Nor for your mother grieve too bitterly.
The Father of the fatherless will be
Your Father and your God. You know who says,
'I will not leave your orphans.' He will send
The Blessed Comforter to comfort you,
And soon will come and take you to Himself,
That where He is there you may also be
In glory. And the time I know is short.
The Bridegroom cometh quickly. Let your loins
Be girded, and your lamps be trimm'd alway.
Methinks your earthly sojourn will be closed,
Not like your father's with the sleep of death,
But by the archangel's clarion. Be it so;
OR be it that ye walk the pilgrim's course
To life's far bourn, the God of Israel
Will shield you, and will give you bread to eat
And raiment to put on, until you reach
Your Father's house in peace.

'Come here, my child,
My firstborn, who hast ever been to me
Thy mother's image, doubly blessed thus;
Subdue thy grief that thou may'st solace hers,
And with a daughter's heavenly art reflect
Her former brightness on a widow's heart:
I leave it thee thy charge. And thou, my boy,
Son, brother, father, pastor thou must be,
And with a thoughtfulness beyond thy years
Enfold thy mother in thy filial love,
As the leaves cluster round a shaken rose;
And shade thy sisters and thy brothers, as
A granite wall the flowers. Thy hour is come
To take the banner of the cross: it was
Thy sainted grandsire's once, and fearlessly
He bore it in the thickest flight, and then
Entrusted it to my unequal hands.
Now it is thine. I leave it thee to guard
And part from only with thy parting breath.

'Come near to me, my children. Let the hand
That traced the cross upon your infant brow,
Rest on your heads once more: come hither, nurse,
Upon my babe, my tenderest blossom first,
God bless him: and the others, dear, dear lambs,
On earth and all a father's blessing abide.
And Thou, Great Shepherd of the flock, look down
In mercy from Thy throne of heavenly grace
On those whom Thou hast given me. From Thy hand
I first received them, and to Thee again,
Thee only, I resign them. Let not one
Be wanting in the day Thou countest up
The jewels in Thy diadem of saints.
I ask not for the glories of the world,
I ask not freedom from its weariness
Of daily toil: but, O Lord Jesu Christ,
Let Thy omnipotent prayer prevail for them,
And keep them from the evil. In the hour
Of trial, when the subtle tempter's voice
Sounds like a seraph's, and no human friend
Is nigh, let my words live before Thee then,
And hide my lambs beneath Thy shadowing wings,
And keep them as the apple of Thine eye:
My prayers are ended, if Thy will be done
In them and by them: till at last we meet
Within the mansions of our Father's house,
A circle never to be sunder'd more,
No broken link, a family in heaven.'

And now the sun had sunk behind the hills;
The twilight deepen'd; and the stars peep'd forth
Betwixt the drapery of silver clouds.
And the nurse understood the sign I gave,
And led the younger children from my room;
And what with weeping and with weariness
It was not long before they slept. The rest
Silently praying lean'd against the foot
Of my low couch. Never a word they spoke,
But look'd their inexpressible love, till thoughts
Of luminous stars, and large and loving eyes,
Were strangely blended in a dream that came
Enamell'd with rich pictures of my life,
And floated like a golden mist away.

The time-piece striking nine recall'd me; for
I felt the involuntary thrill it sent
Through my wife's heart, as kneeling by my side
She clung: and almost unawares my lips
Repeated words she loved in other days
Though long forgotten - 'All thine own on earth,
Beloved, and in glory all thine own.'
They open'd a deep fountain; and her tears
Fell quick as rain upon my hand, - hot tears
On a cold hand, - so sluggishly my blood
Crept now. And I said, 'Let the children read
Some of God's words.' All others would have jarr'd
That night, but His are tender in their strength,
And in their very tenderness are strong.
And straightway, like a chime of evening bells
Melodiously o'er broken waters borne,
They read in a low voice most musical
Some fragments of the book of life.

The first
Chose words she loved from David's pastoral, -
'The Lord my Shepherd is; I shall not want:
He leads me in green pastures, and beside
Still waters; and restores my soul to tread
For His name's sake the paths of righteousness.
Yea, though I walk the shadowy vale of death,
I fear not; Thou art with me; and Thy crook
It comforts me. My table is prepared
In presence of my enemies: my head
Thou, Lord, anointest; and my cup o'erflows.
Goodness and mercy shall attempt my steps,
And in Thy house I shall for ever dwell.'

She ceased; and then another from the Psalm
Of him, who call'd his son 'a stranger here,'
Read, 'Thou, O Lord, hast been our dwelling-place
From age to age, the everlasting Thou,'
Until he linger'd on the children's prayer,
'O satisfy us early with Thy love
That we may live rejoicing all our days.'

Methinks, they hardly caught my low amen,
For almost without pause a gentle girl,
With a voice tremulous for tears not shed,
Repeated, for she knew them, the dear words
Of Jesus on the night He was betray'd,
'Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe
In God…' nor ceased till she had pleaded all
The eloquence of His High-priestly prayer.

And then my son began, 'Now is Christ risen,
The first-fruits of the dead who sleep in Him.'
The words burnt brightly' as the beacon fires at night,
Till as he utter'd 'This corruptible
Must put on incorruption, and this mortal
Its immortality;' and ask'd in tones
Where faith with feeling wrestled and prevail'd,
'Where is thy sting, O Death! and where, O Grave,
Thy victory?' we heard, but heeded not,
The warning that another hour had pass'd,
For our responsive hearts were echoing 'Thanks
To God who giveth us the victory!'
And now for the last time the manna fell
Around my pilgrim tent. My eldest child
Turned with true instinct to our home, and read
The vision of the new Jerusalem,
The Bridal city, built of crystal gold
And bright with jewels, whether real types
Or rather typical realities.
And, as she read, we often paused and spoke,
Though but as children speak, of things unseen;
Until the closing words, 'His servants there
Shall serve Him; they shall see His face; His name
Writ in their forehead. And they need no sun
Or moon to shine upon them, for the Lord
Doth lighten them with uncreated light,
And they shall reign for ever and for ever.'

Then there was silence: and my children knelt
Around my bed - our latest family prayer.
Listen - it is eleven striking. Then
I whisper'd to my wife, 'The time is short;
I hear the Spirit and the Bride say, 'Come,'
And Jesus answering, 'I come quickly.' Listen.'
And as she wiped the death-dews from my brow,
She falter'd, 'He is very near,' and I
Could only faintly say, 'Amen, amen.'
And then my power of utterance was gone:
I beckon'd and was speechless: I was more
Than ankle deep in Jordan's icy stream.
My children stood upon its utmost verge,
Gazing imploringly, persuasively,
While the words, 'Dear, dear father,' now and then
Would drop, like dew, from their unconscious lips.
My gentle wife, with love stronger than death,
Was leaning over those cold gliding waves.
I heard them speaking, but could make no sign;
I saw them weeping, but could shed no tear;
I felt their touch upon my flickering pulse,
Their breath upon my cheek, but I could give
No answering pressure to the fond hands press'd
In mine. So rapidly the river-bed
Shelved downward, I had pass'd or almost pass'd
Beyond the interchange of loving signs
Into the very world of love itself.
The waters were about my knees; they wash'd
My loins; and still they deepen'd. Unawares
I saw, I listen'd - who is He who speaks? -
A Presence and a Voice. That Presence moved
Beside me like a cloud of glory; and
That Voice was like a silver trumpet, saying,
'Be of good comfort. It is I. Fear not.'
And whether now the waters were less deep
Or I was borne upon invisible arms,
I know not; but methought my mortal robes
Now only brush'd the smoothly gliding stream,
And like the edges of a sunset cloud
The beatific land before me lay.
One long last look behind me: gradually
The figures faded on the shore of time,
And, as the passing bell of midnight struck,
One sob, one effort, and my spirit was free.

They err who tell us, that the spirit unclothed,
And from its mortal tabernacle loosed,
Has neither lineament of countenance,
Nor limit of ethereal mould, nor form
Of spiritual substance. The Eternal Word,
Before He hung upon the Virgin's breasts,
Was wont to manifest Himself to men,
In visible similitude defined:
And, when on Calvary He gave up the ghost,
In that emancipated Spirit went forth,
And preach'd glad tidings to the souls below.
The angels are but spirits, a flame of fire,
And subtle as the viewless winds of heaven;
Yet are they each to the other visible,
And beautiful with those original forms
That crown'd the morn of their nativity.
Each has his several beauty. It is true
The changes that diversify their state,
Wrought with the speed of wishes at their will
And pleasure who are pleased as pleases God,
Are many as are the leaves and bloom and fruit
That shed new lustre on the orange groves
And vineyards of the south: but still remains
Their angel ideality the same,
As we confuse not orange-trees and vines.
And so the spirit inbreathed in human flesh,
By death divested of its mortal robes,
Retains its individual character,
Ay, and the very mould of its sojourn
Within this earthly tabernacle. Face
Answers to face, and limb to limb; nor lacks
The saint immediate investiture
With saintly' apparel. Only then the mind
Which struggles here beneath this fleshly veil,
As the pure fire in a half polish'd gem -
Ruby or amethyst or diamond -
Imprison'd, when the veil is rent in twain,
Beams as with solar radiance forth, and sheds
Its glow o'er every motion, every look:
That which is born of spirit is spirit, and seems
All ear, all eye, all feeling, and all heart; -
A crystal shrine of life.

And I was now
A spirit, new born into a spiritual world.
Half dreaming, half awake, I lay awhile
In an Elysium of repose: as glides
A vessel long beset with boisterous winds
Into some tranquil port, and all is still,
Except the liquid ripple round the keel:
So in a trance I lay. But gradually,
As wakes an infant from its rosy sleep
To find its mother keeping by its side
Enamour'd vigil, dreaming I awoke,
And slowly then bethought me whence I came
And what I was, and ask'd instinctively
'Where am I?' And a gentle voice, in tones
More musically soft than those the wind
Elicits from AEolian harp or lute,
Made answer, 'Brother, thou art by my side,
By me thy guardian angel, who have watch'd
Thy footsteps from the wicket gate of life,
And now am here to tend thy pathway home.'
I turn'd to see who spake, and being turn'd
I saw two overshadowing wings that veil'd
The unknown speaker. Slowly they disclosed
A form of light which seem'd to rest on them,
So, to compare the things of earth and heaven,
As rests the body of the bird, which men
Call for delight the bird of Paradise,
Upon its waving feathers poised in air,
Feathers, or rather clouds of golden down,
With streamers thrown luxuriantly out
In all the wantonness of winged wealth.
Not otherwise behind that angel waved
His pinions tremulous with starry light,
Then droop'd close folded to his radiant side:
But, folded or diffuse, with equal ease
Buoyant he floated on the obedient air.
The very sight was melody; such grace
Flow'd in his lightest motion. Save his wings
The form was human in the spring of youth:
I guess'd a warrior by the fiery sword
Girt to his thigh; and yet his flowing robes,
White as if woven of the beams that fall
On the untrodden snows, bespoke a priest;
And his mysterious crown, a king: but when
Smiling he look'd on me, so much of love -
Pure, holy, unimaginable love -
In that one glance his spirit pour'd into mine;
Nor warrior then, nor priest, nor king he seem'd,
But only brother.

And again he spoke,
'Before yon hills have caught the Eastern glow
Will they expect us at heaven's golden gates.
The road is long; but swifter than the beams
Of morning is the angelic convoy
Sent for thy escort home. Myself thy guide:
And with me other two, who on their hands
Shall bear thee as they bore blest Lazarus
Into his father's bosom, ready stand,
Waiting our summons. But, so pleases thee,
Ere we set forth, rise, brother, and look round
Upon the battle-field where thou hast fought
The fight of faith.'

Immediately I rose,
My spiritual essence to my faintest will
Subservient, as is flame to wind, and gazed,
Myself invisible, around. O sight
Surpassing utterance, when the mists, they veil'd
That borderland of heaven and earth and hell,
Dispersed, or rather when my eyes became
Used to the mysteries of things unseen!
My dwelling had been situate beside
The myriads of a vast metropolis:
But now astonish'd I beheld, and lo!
There were more spirits than men, more habitants
Of the thin air than of the solid ground:
Thy firmament was quick with life. As when
The prophet's servant look'd from Dothan forth
On Syria's thronging multitudes, and saw,
His eyes being open'd at Elisha's prayer,
Chariots of fire by fiery horses drawn,
The squadrons of the sky around the seer
Encamping. Thus in numbers numberless
The hosts of darkness and of light appear'd
Thronging in the air. They were not ranged for fight,
But mingled host with host, angels with men.
Nor was it easy to discern the lost
From the elect. There were no horned fiends
As some have fabled, no gaunt skeletons
Of naked horror; but the fallen wore,
Even as the holy angels, robes of light;
Nor did their ruin otherwise appear
Than in dark passions, envy, and pride, and hate,
Which like a brand upon their brow obscured
The lustre of angelic loveliness.
It was not open battle, might with might
Contesting; but uninterrupted war
Of heavenly faithfulness and hellish craft.
By every saint a holy watcher stood;
By some a company of blessed spirits;
Each had their ministry assign'd. And oft
From some superior chief the watchword pass'd,
Or warnings came of stratagems foreseen,
Or tidings from the court of glory sped
From lip to lip more quickly than the thoughts
Which men decipher from electric signs.
Far off their armour gleam'd. On the other hand
The spirits of darkness freely intermix'd
With all; innumerable legions arm'd;
And, baffled oft, to their respective lords
The thrones and principalities of hell
Repairing, better learn'd their cursed lore
To win or storm the ramparts of the heart
Except to treachery impregnable.
Around some dwellings, thick as locust-swarms,
I saw them cluster. Flush'd with wine there pass'd
A young man through the solitary streets, -
Not solitary to angelic eyes -
Home to his father's house: a dark spirit waved
A fascinating spell before his face;
And straightway to those tents of wickedness
He bent his easy steps; and, as he cross'd
The threshold through the crowd invisible,
I heard their fiendish laugh of triumph. Soon
Another, on the call of charity,
With haste that dimly-lighted pavement trod;
And him the spirits malign assay'd to draw
With the same sorcery: but an angel stoop'd
And interposed his buckler, and the youth
Went on unscathed, though mindless of his peril.
A lonely garret drew my eye; for thence
A flood of roseate brilliance stream'd afar,
Such brilliance as a spirit alone may see:
There on a bed of straw a sufferer lay
Feeble, but strong in faith; and by her side
Two of heaven's noblest principalities
Kept watch: and to my look of marvel, why
Such high pre-eminence was hers, my guide
Made answer, 'She is one whom Jesus loves.'
But now another sight attracted me:
'Twas but a childhood's orphanage; but there,
Say, is it Jacob's ladder once again
Planted upon the earth? Such forms of light
Were passing to and fro continually,
So frequent was the intercourse with heaven

It boots not further to declare what things
I saw that hour; but wheresoe'er I look'd
Methought there was an earnestness and awe
Presaging coming crisis. As I gazed,
Questions innumerable to my lips
Rose as live waters to a fountain's brim.
But I was mute with wonder; and my guide,
Responding to my quick unspoken thoughts,
Said, 'Brother, I will tell thee all ere long;
But now once more permitted glance of love
Upon thy earthly home, and we must then
Assay our long precipitate descent.'

I follow'd where he led. Is it my home,
My widow'd, desolate, and orphan'd home?
O hush! o'er every child an angel bent,
Nor was the nurse the only one who watch'd
The cradle of my sleeping babe. My wife
Had stolen to our silent chamber back,
And knelt in tears beside my lifeless clay:
And o'er her stood a seraph, watching her
With wondrous tenderness and love and grief.
'And is it true,' I ask'd - my words were quick
And irrepressible for eager thought, -
'Hath it been ever granted those who have pass'd
The river, to appear and show themselves,
Unchanged in form, in heart unchangeable,
To loved ones they have left behind?' ''Tis true
It hath been so,' gently my guardian said,
'But only by His sovereign will and word
Who holds the keys of Hades and of Death,
And opens, as He wills, the mortal eye
To see the mysteries of things unseen.
There are who fondly call upon the dead
To hear them, and imagine they receive
Some dark response in symbols or in sounds:
But either in their minds their own prayers raise
Distemper'd phantasies, or spirits unblest,
Perceiving that the bond of fealty
Is broken with the One and Only God,
Assume the very lineaments and voice
Of those invoked, and answering them allure
Their worshippers to ruin. Yet sometimes
The veil is lifted by His high behest
Who separates eternity from time,
And spirits have spoken unto men, and then
Their eye is open, and their ear attent.
Blest seers, blest auditors: but higher still
And holier is the pure beatitude
On those who have not seen and yet believe;
And such is hers who kneels before thee: hers,
As thine was, is the victory of faith.
Leave her to God. Our journey summons us.'
'Enough, enough,' I answer'd, 'All is well;
I would not pluck one jewel from her crown:
Arise, let us be going.' And at my words
The spirit who watch'd beside her look'd on me
A look of tender gratitude, and waved
His hand in token of a short farewell.

And I was now aware of two who stood
Beside me, courier angels, wing'd for speed:
Twin brothers they appear'd, so like their mien,
So like their garments dipt in rainbow hues;
They bent on me the beauty of their smile,
And singing as they took my hand in theirs,
'Home, brother, home,' unclosed their wings of light:
And we, my guardian leading us the way,
Set forth upon the road to Paradise.

Smooth, easy, swifter than the winds of heaven
Our flight was. In the twinkling of an eye
We brush'd the mantle of a silver cloud
That floated in mid sky. Like flames of fire
We mounted upward, for awhile within
The limits of the mighty shadow cast
From the earth's solid globe athwart the heavens.
But soon, emerging from its gloom, we saw
The sun unclouded, but its disc reduced
To half its former radiance, - faint its warmth,
Feeble its light, and lessening every league.
But when I saw that we had left the earth
Beneath us, and were ever soaring higher,
I turn'd me to my radiant guide and said,
'O blessed angel, wherefore calledst thou
The road to Paradise a long descent
Precipitate? Upward our pathway leads,
Ascending, not descending: and the earth
Already lies a planet at our feet.'

And he, benignly smiling, answer'd me,
'Call me, I pray thee, Oriel, such my name -
One little beam from God's great orb of light.
Ascension and descension, height and depth,
Are here not measured by a line through space
Drawn vertical or perpendicular
From any spot on the revolving earth: -
Of which let it suffice thee to reflect
Thy highest hitherto hath ever been
The lowest to the other hemisphere.
Not so our zenith and our nadir lie.
But height with us is where the Eternal God,
Though omnipresent in the universe,
Reveals the lustre of His throne supreme,
Through clouds of glory in the heaven of heavens:
And depth is the remotest opposite.
We are descending now: for Hades lies
More distant from the everlasting throne
Than central earth. Fear not; for He who sits
High throned above all height pre-eminent,
Not only stoop'd from thence to Bethlehem,
But dying, descended lower than on earth,
And captive led captivity, His prey,
In those vast realms beneath. Descending first,
Soon He ascended far above the heavens,
And with His presence fills the universe.
His pathway, brother, must be thine. Nor think
That Paradise, though situate in the deep
Which lieth under, is not real heaven:
Heaven is where Jesus is, and He is there.
Even as in those mysterious temple courts
Built on mount Zion, figures of the true,
There was the outer court, the holy place,
The Holiest of Holies, and yet all
Were but one house, One Father's house of prayer;
So is it in the heaven of heavens. And now
The veil is rent for ever, and He walks
Who bears thy name engraven on His heart
Before the throne of mercy, and amid
The golden candlesticks, and where the souls
Beneath the altar cry 'How long, O Lord?'
Fear not; there thou shalt see Him as He is,
There clasp His sacred feet, and rest beneath
The beaming sunlight of His countenance,
And follow where He leads through fairer fields
Than Eden, by the gushing springs of life
Fresh water'd. He makes heaven: and every part
Of His great temple with His glory shines.'

So spake he; and I hung upon his lips
Entranced, whose words were sweeter to my taste
Than droppings of the honey dew. But now
I was aware the pathway that we clomb
No longer was a solitary track,
Rather a mighty highway of the heavens:
For other travellers, angels they seem'd,
Were passing to and fro unweariedly,
On the manifold behests commission'd. Some
Swept by us, swift as lightning, on their road
From Paradise to earth: and other some
Journeying the way we went, in groups of light
Bore in their hands, like my angelic guard,
A weary pilgrim to his home of rest.
Others, and they were many, had each in charge
A sleeping infant folded to his bosom,
And ever and anon would stoop and gaze
Upon it with unutterable love.
Of some the flight was slow: but when I look'd,
The spirit they carried was in chains, and all
His stricken lineaments bespoke despair.
And still the path became more throng'd, and shone
With living meteors, so as to compare
The things of sight and faith, at midnight when
A rose-blush as of morning seems to steal
Across the northern firmament, with jets
Of ardent flame and undulating light
Incessant. On our right hand and our left
The stars sang Hallelujah, as we pass'd
Now in the splendor of some nearer orb,
Whether a satellite or blazing sun,
And now within the twilight interval
That lay betwixt their vast domains. But I,
Solicitous regarding those whose look
Of woe once seen was ineffaceable,
Ask'd, 'Holy Oriel, are those prisoners,
Whose slower course we pass continually,
Angelic, or lost spirits of human birth?
And wherefore are they on this road with us?'

And he replied, his words were grave but calm,
'They are the disembodied souls of men
Who lived and died in sin. Lightly they spent
In Godless mirth or prayerless toil unblest
Their brief inestimable day of proof,
Till the last golden sands ran out: and now
Their hour is come, and they are on the road
To that profound abysmal deep, wherein
The rich man lifted up his anguish'd eyes -
Eyes never to be closed in sleep again:
Nor marvel that one track their footsteps leads
As ours. Remember he of whom I spake,
Himself in torments, though far off, beheld
The holy Lazarus, and call'd aloud -
A bootless prayer - on Abraham for aid.
And when that desperate monarch, Saul of old,
Impenitent, besought of Endor's witch
The knowledge that insulted Heaven refused,
The prophet's spirit, which rose at God's behest,
Baffling the arts of sorcery, replied,
'To-morrow thou and thine shall be with me.'
All die, for all have sinn'd. Their mother earth
Has but one sepulchre for all. And here
One Hades, by us call'd the under-world,
Receives the spirits of the damn'd and blest:
One world, but widely sunder'd by a gulf
Inevitably fixed, impassable,
Which severs to the left hand and the right
The prison-house of woe and Paradise.
Before us now it lies.'

I look'd, and lo
Before us lay a sphere girdled with clouds,
And glorious with illimitable lights
And shadows mingling. Momently it grew
Dilated, as with undiminish'd speed
We outstripp'd lightnings in our homeward path,
Until in vain I toil'd to mark the line
Of its horizon. Boundless it appear'd
As space itself, a nether sea of mist
Unfathomable, shoreless, infinite.
Thither our pathway led. But as we near'd
Its extreme confines, I beheld what seem'd
A defile in those mountainous clouds, a chasm
Whence issued floods of radiance, pure white light,
And rainbow tints, roseate, and gold, and blue,
Unparallel'd on earth: though he who sees
The virgin snows upon the Alps suffused
With blushes underneath the first salute
Of morning, sees a shadow of this light.
This was the gorgeous avenue which led
Straight to the gates of bliss - a pass to which
The grandest and the most sublime on earth,
From Caubul to the sunny plains of Ind,
Were but a miner's arch. The massive sides,
Massive they seem'd, of this ravine were built
Of clouds which ever hung there undispersed,
And caught on every vaporous fold and skirt
The glory of the sportive rays that stream'd
Forth from the happy Paradise beyond
Innumerable. But before we pass'd
Under that radiant canopy, I saw
Another road far stretching on our left
Into the outer darkness, vast and void,
And from its depths methought I faintly heard
the sighings of despair. Time was not now
For mute surprise or question. On we flew,
As shoots a vessel laden with the wealth
Of Ceylon's isle, or Araby the blest,
Right onward, every sailyard bent with wind,
Into her long'd-for port. And now the air
Grew tremulous with heavenly melody.
Far off at first it seem'd and indistinct,
As swells and sinks the multitudinous roar
Of ocean: but ere long the waves of sound
Roll'd on articulate, and then I knew
The voice of harpers harping on their harps.
And lo, upon the extreme verge of cloud,
As once at Eden's portals there appear'd
A company of angels clothed in light,
Thronging the path or in the amber air
Suspense. And in the twinkling of an eye
We were among them, and they cluster'd round
And waved their wings, and struck their harps again
For gladness; every look was tenderness,
And every word was musical with joy.

'Welcome to heaven, dear brother, welcome home!
Welcome to thy inheritance of light!
Welcome for ever to thy Master's joy!
Thy work is done, thy pilgrimage is past;
Thy guardian angel's vigil is fulfill'd;
Thy parents wait thee in the bowers of bliss;
Thy infant babes have woven wreaths for thee;
Thy brethren who have enter'd into rest
Long for thy coming; and the angel choirs
Are ready with their symphonies of praise.
Nor shall thy voice be mute: a golden harp
For thee is hanging on the trees of life;
And sweetly shall its chords for ever ring,
Responsive to thy touch of ecstasy,
With Hallelujahs to thy Lord and ours.'

So sang they; and that vast defile of clouds
Re-echoed with the impulses of song
And music, and the atmosphere serene
Throbb'd with innumerable greetings. Sounds,
Such as no mortal ear hath ever heard,
Save those who watch'd their flocks at Bethlehem,
Ravish'd my soul, and sights surpassing words,
Till, ear and eye fulfill'd with pure delight,
I turn'd me to my angel guide, and said
Unconsciously, ''Twere good to sojourn here!'
But he, in tones of buoyant hope, replied,
'Brother, thou shalt see greater things than these.'