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Soar if thou canst, but if thou canst not, clear thine eye to see this great eagle soar into the higher region where forms arrange themselves for stellar dance and spheral melody,—and thought, with costly-accelerated motion, raises itself a spiral which can only end in the heart of the Supreme.

The universe is love— And this disjointed fragment of a world Must, by its spirit, man, be harmonized, Tuned to concordance with the spheral strain, Till thought be like those skies, deeds like those breezes, As clear, as bright, as pure, as musical, And all things have one text of truth and beauty.

Even so to me the soft romantic dream Of one who still may sit at fancy's feet, Where love and beauty yet are all the theme, Where spheral concords find an echo meet.

No longer my hands shall bear the coal to the lips of the inspired singer—no longer my voice modulate its tones to the accompaniment of spheral harmonies.

The invisible world is near us; or rather, it is here, in us and about us; were the fleshly coil removed from our soul, the glories of the unseen were even now around us, as the ancients fabled of the spheral music.