For oh, one morn before my leaping fire, I met the eyes of Truth, and list the lyre Across whose strings the hands of Seraphs swept, The while my heart its Heavenly music kept. And often have I bound with tender care The thorn-rent feet of strayed ones, pausing where My door stood wide--a refuge from the night; And sent them singing, to ascend the height. Let enter then who will, my heart stands open wide; I’ve thrown away the key, nor fear what may betide. I could not bear to think one sought me with a prayer In vain,--that Hope should sadly turn away--Despair. So would I ope my door, e’en though some fiend might slay,-- Lest Truth should find it barred, or Love be turned away. THE WEB OF DREAMS He wove, and a Web of Dreams unrolled,-- The warp was Fame and the woof was Gold. Oh, the joy he spent, And the hearts he rent, As he wove his fabric of Discontent, And it fell at his feet soiled fold on fold! For the threads were frail and tangled and frayed, As he wove of Self and the things that fade. Oh, the tears he shed As his years lay dead, And he spurned with hate each tattered shred Of the worthless web his hands had made! But the Master Weaver heard his prayer, And plied the shuttle with wondrous care. Oh, the threads that flew, And the fabric new,-- The warp was Love and the woof Love too,-- That came from the loom, so strong and fair! Then the weaver of dreams awoke--and knew; And with lifted soul he strove anew. Oh, the joy he found, And the hearts he crowned, As the shuttle sped and the reels unwound;-- For he wove of Love and each thread held true! FLIGHT I would sing in the face of fears, When about my feet they throng; I would pass them by with a heart that drips A hymn of joy from my eager lips; For fear cannot live for long-- With song! I would lift my eyes to the stars, Though my path be laid through mire; And looking up to the Heavenly doors, My feet shall follow my soul that soars Up, up--ever high and higher-- Nor tire! I would open my windows wide,-- When caged seems this heart of mine,-- To the sun and sky and Heaven’s wind sweeping through, That my soul shall rise till I breast the blue, And the freedom of Life Divine-- Is mine! VICTORY I have fought; but what honor in fighting?-- There are many who win; The beasts do as much, even righting A wrong that has been. Yet I rise ’bove the warfare, and clinging To Love ’midst the fray, Bring out of it all a soul singing, A heart that can pray.