The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing:
"Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase,
Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring,
Are outshone by God's glory in her face!"
HEAVEN
Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light
Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound.
What we call senses here, there so abound,