Imagination decks the naked tree With candles burning clear, Until transfigured by her witchery It blooms with Christmas cheer. Life’s pathway leads us to the yawning tomb And there it seems to end - Imagination peering through the gloom Sees visions that transcend. Imagination marked the goal That fired Columbus’ burning soul, Till like a vision through the haze A new world burst upon his gaze That voyage of destiny. And ancient chroniclers relate Magellan, groping through the strait, Beyond the blue horizon’s rim Saw far off islands beckon him Out to an unknown sea! “Imagination rules the world” so said The great Napoleon, and at the head Of conquering armies drove his ruthless way Made Afric sands and Russian snows obey His iron decrees. Upon an Alpine height Poised like an eagle, terrible as night, He swooped on Italy. His boundless reign Was the creation of his lonely brain. On upstart thrones he set his underlings. Like puppets played with kingdoms and with kings - His fingers marked their bounds, his will their power Earth’s dictator, in that tremendous hour He dreamed like Lucifer, as grandly wove His dreams into realty, then strove For Godlike heights, and from those heights was hurled And in his meteor fall amazed the world! The naked truth itself is never true. Stern facts are but the skeleton that binds Our living fancies. If we seek to view Truth absolute, her grisly horror blinds Our eyes, for her’s is but the mocking skull, Stark, hideous, the poor grain’s withered hull After the kernel dies. The glance, the smile, Expression, character, the soul beguile When, taking form o’er Truth’s repellent base Imagination beams with radiant face. Imagination is the martial strain That fires disheartened soldiers for the fray; Her pitying fingers smooth the brow of pain, She whispers low, - “This too, shall pass away.” Her’s is the vision, the all seeing eye That pierces where truth’s nuggets lie concealed. Illusions crumble at her query, “Why?” The Sphinx’s ancient wisdom is revealed To her clear sight. She holds the golden key That can unlock the guarded door of fate. She is the lodestar of our destiny, Her’s is the Godlike impulse to create. The treasure that Prometheus once stole From Heaven’s high altar is her sacred fire; To the insensate clod she is the soul, The Phoenix risen from the funeral pyre! The atoms spin, the elements adhere Till matter forms like mold: and vaunted life A fungus growth upon a dying sphere Whirls on into the dark. “The futile strife “Of some vast mechanism’s grinding gears.” - Grim science tells us - but the vision comes Of life immortal ranging down the years Through endless vistas of milleniums!