Above, the gates of Heaven were swinging wide, And he beheld the City of the King; His angel friends were standing close beside, Who, near the throne, the songs of Zion sing; And, as he looked, a chariot of gold Was passing o’er the pavement pearly-laid; A gleam of heavenly light he could behold Whose radiance warmed his soul and with him stayed. “Who passes?” cried he; “Tell his honored name, And whither will the golden chariot go?” “To all the world,” the answer sweetly came;— “’Tis Christ, the King of Heaven and earth below.” Then, in the brightness of that blessed light, He followed on, with never-tiring speed; The chariot wheels he ever kept in sight,— For strength was given, in the hour of need. The chariot stopped, beside a crystal stream, And Christ, descending, loosed the reins of gold; Then, gazing downward past the heavenly gleam, “Here lies the earth,” said he; “Come and behold!” The follower came, as comes the wandering dove, When seeking shelter from the storms of night; And as he looked from that great height above, He saw below a strange and sickening sight;— The earth was there, like some great marshy tract, With crowds, like blind men, wandering to and fro; Some struggling upward, others falling back, And crying out: “We know not where to go!” He saw among them many of his own To whom he preached the word of God each year; There stood the little chapel, built of stone, Where once he grieved, because some would not hear. The darkness came; he heard their piteous cry,— Weeping and moaning sounded thro’ the air, As, one by one, they lost “the way” near by And souls were yielding to a death’s despair. He saw it all as never seen before,— His eyes were opened, now he could not stay; Standing with Christ his spirit did implore:— “O send me back that I may point the way!” * * * * * Dreaming, he woke; the lamp was burning dim,— The moon-beams thro’ the casement softly crept; A revelation had been made to him Which changed his heart, the while he sweetly slept. Despair departed, love for life-work came; The holy dream had made the man more wise. He knelt to breathe a prayer in Jesus’ name, While angels sang in peaceful Paradise. HARMONY AND HEAVEN. Our souls are made of harmony To sing and live forever; For Harmony and Heaven are one Where discord soundeth never. THE DANDELION. One day, in spring, I took a walk And spied, within a field of green, A slender dandelion stock, Upon whose top a flower was seen. Soon after, passing by the place, I noticed that the flower of gold, Whose stiffened stalk had lost it’s grace, Was turning gray and growing old.