Your door that stands closed, as a storm that darkens the noon. O soul of envy atroped senility that bloom. O you mind of the wicked, the close of the day has arriven so soon. No deeds of mercy, no work was begun, for in the heart of the wicked, the race was never run. You saints as the eagle from the heavens that cry. You mountains of love all glorious and white ascending so high. O beautiful souls, Mosier's hosts, in all creation stand by. Watching over the earth and its hosts, no mind of the living can die. O beautiful songs from the great throne that be. To the mind of all living--yet heard only by thee. The hosts of the heaven as the winds or the waves of the sea. Giving to every soul who has understanding and a portion of light for me. Alleuher is not mocked by the race, or the evil within. Not by those who have fallen and rage, you terrors of sin: He keeps his city and its hosts of the earth and the air. The hours of the evil shall approach, but none of them shall come there, to that beautiful Zion, that city so fair. Alleuher holds the order of life. All things in their hosts and zones. A power is with them, for they are his own. A lion and an eagle and a bull and the image of a man living in his glory, and bearing to and fro his great throne. His spirit descending through the hosts, the souls of all men is known. His salvation for his saints, his glory in order is shown. Through the gates above Zion the hosts pass by, ascending and descending by the silvering portals. Upon that beautiful road he has built through the sky. All the earth is full of his glory as the wind, his power is nigh. His saints walk in his strength. There is no death, there is none of his hosts that ever die. * * * * * A Meditation--The Afterwhile 1. In the twilight I wandered by the old home place, and I saw it lie in wreck; all was vanity and despair. I sought for the things that belonged to my childhood days, but none of them were there. 2. The old apple tree which stood by the gate, had aged and fallen almost away. Its branches were drooped and crisp with time, through which I used to chase in games of play. 3. I looked away to the old house which stood midst the terrace blue. I thought of the days of my childhood ways, but storm and drear had changed things to an age of bronzed hue. 4. My old rose was gone which stood by the doorway, resting its hands against the wall. And seemed to watch me as I would fleet across the terrace, as if to guard against my fall. 5. I went to look through the garden of the days of long ago, and I saw that my brook lay mired and neglected, which so proudly through its vintage once did flow. 6. My old oak, too, had fallen which stood by the garden wall; crowned with azure gray like the light of fall. Casting its shadows across our brook, it was so strong, so mighty, and tall.