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Title: Imagination
Author: James Avis Bartley [
More Titles by Bartley]
Now fir'd imagination soars on high, and shows
Magnific scenes. The first--a summer's dawn--
A sky of purest blue--a golden sea
Beneath--earth bright with lovely hues like Heaven.
Yon orb of fire suspended o'er that sea
Of molten gold, burns like a throne in Heaven.
His foaming, flashing radiance, floods earth--sky--
And throbbing sea, till each lies bathed in glory,
Which seems the break of a celestial morn.
That scene has passed. Another charms
The gaze. The mighty orb of blazing flame,
Has run a curve of brightness o'er the sky,
And presently will cut the Western main,
With its bright rim. We stand upon an isle,
One of the Hesperian, in the unknown seas,
Toward the setting sun. The waves which gush,
And softly splash against the rocky shores,
Are dyed by richest, ever varying tints,
Like those, we fancy, tinge that sea that flows,
Around the throne of God, and, in whose billows,
The seraphs, as wing'd birds, embathe their breasts--
Whilst heaven becomes another sea like that--
And all is bright waves dashing o'er our hearts,
And making music sweeter than the songs
Of those we loved in youth, ere hatred grew.
That scene has pass'd. Imagination sleeps
To husband strength for more ambitious flight.
But, soon restored, with native, heavenly might,
She soars beyond the sun high thron'd at noon--
And, with her hand that flows with gold and gems,
Flings wide Heaven's gates that flame with living beams.
And lo! the scene of Heaven! Oh! brighter far,
Than aught earth shows of beautiful or fair,
Is that bright heaven of our hopes and dreams.
Yet even imagination's piercing eye
Receives into its scope but humble part
Of all the glory that o'erflows that heaven.
A boundless sea of love--all hued like love,
Gleams round the throne of Triune God, which seems
To rise from out that placid depth, built of
Its water, crystallized to gold and pearl,
Wherein joy's beauteous light forever plays.
Over that sea rings set beyond vast rings
Of burning seraph, saint, and cherub, stand
With starry crowns; and, with unceasing songs,
Struck from their lyres that burn as morning suns,
And born in hearts that burn in joys of heaven--
Louder than twelvefold thunder, yet more sweet
Than all the sweetest strains e'er heard on earth,
Fill Heaven with light and song ineffable,
Along the bright flow of eternity.
Then swift in flight as saint and seraph there,
She passes back through those vast gates of fire,
And slowly drops upon some flowery peak,
Or ocean isle, upon this mundane sphere;
Then sleeps soft in the folds of some fair flower,
Or, in the crystal bosom of a dewdrop.
[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Imagination
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