One wreath upon they grave we lay (The silence of our bitter thought, Words that would scorch their hearts of clay), And turn to learn what thou has taught, To shape our lives as thine was wrought. --April 15, 1896 [* This is unsigned but is very possibly G.W. Russell's. It was a memoriam to William Quan Judge (W.Q.J), the leader of the American and European Theosophical Societies at the time, one of the original founders of the Theosophical Society, and close co-worker with H.P. Blavatsky.] Fron the Book of the Eagle --[St. John, i. 1-33] In the mighty Mother's bosom was the Wise With the mystic Father in aeonian night; Aye, for ever one with them though it arise Going forth to sound its hymn of light. At its incantation rose the starry fane; At its magic thronged the myriad race of men; Life awoke that in the womb so long had lain To its cyclic labours once again. 'Tis the soul of fire within the heart of life; From its fiery fountain spring the will and thought; All the strength of man for deeds of love or strife, Though the darkness comprehend it not. In the mystery written here John is but the life, the seer; Outcast from the life of light, Inly with reverted sight Still he scans with eager eyes The celestial mysteries. Poet of all far-seen things At his word the soul has wings, Revelations, symbols, dreams Of the inmost light which gleams. The winds, the stars, and the skies though wrought By the one Fire-Self still know it not; And man who moves in the twilight dim Feels not the love that encircles him, Though in heart, on bosom, and eyelids press Lips of an infinite tenderness, He turns away through the dark to roam Nor heeds the fire in his hearth and home. They whose wisdom everywhere Sees as through a crystal air The lamp by which the world is lit, And themselves as one with it; In whom the eye of vision swells, Who have in entranced hours Caught the word whose might compels All the elemental powers; They arise as Gods from men Like the morning stars again. They who seek the place of rest Quench the blood-heat of the breast, Grow ascetic, inward turning Trample down the lust from burning, Silence in the self the will For a power diviner still; To the fire-born Self alone The ancestral spheres are known. Unto the poor dead shadows came Wisdom mantled about with flame; We had eyes that could see the light Born of the mystic Father's might. Glory radiant with powers untold And the breath of God around it rolled. Life that moved in the deeps below Felt the fire in its bosom glow; Life awoke with the Light allied, Grew divinely stirred, and cried: "This is the Ancient of Days within, Light that is ere our days begin. "Every power in the spirit's ken Springs anew in our lives again. We had but dreams of the heart's desire Beauty thrilled with the mystic fire. The white-fire breath whence springs the power Flows alone in the spirit's hour."