With weary feet he came, at last, Where, all untouched by Time’s rude hands, The Pyramids their shadows cast Upon the desert’s burning sands. Still in their works of greatness dwelt The spirits of these mighty men; Before their majesty he knelt! He rose--and he was strong again. O thou! whose life is all inwrought With cheerful faith and strength sublime, Leave _thou_ some monumental thought Upon the desert waste of Time. Some exile from his native heaven May tread the path which thou hast trod, And through _thy works_ may strength be given To lift his spirit up to God. THE INNER MYSTERY. The following inspirational poem was delivered at a festival commemorative of the twentieth anniversary of the advent of Modern Spiritualism, held in Music Hall, Boston, March 31, 1868. It is an allegorical description of the progress of a soul from the Valley of Superstition and Traditional Theology to the highest mountain peaks of Natural Philosophy and Spiritual Revelation. He is strengthened and encouraged in his progress by the voices “of the loved ones gone before.” At length, in the higher regions of metaphysical reasoning and abstract philosophy, he encounters the demon Doubt--a representative of popular Theology and traditional authority. This Doubt endeavors to make him distrust reason, and render a blind credence to mere authority. In the struggle with the demon the great Truth flashes with a realizing sense upon the soul, that by its inherent nature _it is older than all forms of Truth, and one with God himself_. In the strength of this conviction he conquers, and the demon is slain. Thus “THE INNER MYSTERY” is revealed, and the unfolding of the spiritual perceptions follows as a legitimate result. “According to Fichte, there is a Divine Idea pervading the visible universe; which visible universe is indeed but its symbol and sensible manifestation, having in itself no meaning, or even true existence, independent of it. To the mass of men this Divine Idea lies hidden; yet to discern it, to seize it, and live wholly in it, is the condition of all genuine virtue, knowledge, freedom, and the end, therefore, of all spiritual effort in every age.”--CARLYLE. In the valley, where the darkness Dropped its poisonous vapors on my head, Where the night winds moaned and murmured, Like the voices of the troubled dead, Groping, stumbling, weary and alone, Did I make the earth my bed, And my pillow was a stone. O, that slumber! It was long, and dark, and deep, Till a voice cried, “Come up hither!” And I started from my sleep.