AH, what if the mind,

By sense-law confined,

In time, 'neath this stratum of stars,

Secretes by her spell

This fair, wondrous shell

Self-substanced, till bursting the bars

Of chrysalis time,

Free, joyous, sublime,

She mounts the blue space, winged with light,

Where, deep in the soul,

Is mirrored the whole,

As in a calm lake the pure night!

And what, if the whole

Are things of the soul,

This frame, Earth, bright Moon, garnished Skies,

If from the great Sun

Of spirit are spun

All systems which gravity ties

To their focal source,

By a hidden force

Mysterious, dynamic, unknown—

A power that controls

Each orb as it rolls,

And links to the great central throne!...

When the dew-drops shine,

On each sunlit line,

Of gossamer network, on sod

Of emerald green,

In the morning's sheen,

'Tis a miniature sky-work of God....

Arachne how oft,

In the twilight soft,

Seems poised in mid-air; yet some tie

Holds spider, moon, mote,

All known, near, remote,

From mind to yon azure-domed sky!