Of heart, mind, spirit! Lo! how down they sweep
To basic Good where, massing, they remount,
Till, mid God's "Many Mansions," high they leap,
Forming forever, joy's most splendent fount!
WHAT THE POETS SHOW
When, at God's fiat, Light flashed forth, the beam
Evolved a million pigments, as it sped
To every nature. Now, of all its spread,
What shaft so glorious as the poet's dream