But setteth free the soul. What real need
Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues,
Through which the soul looks feebly on the world?
This power then opes the prison door awhile,
And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth.
This know I--without eyes the spirit sees,
Gains instant cognizance of hidden things,
And counts all space for nothing; knowledge comes
Upon it with the falling of the flesh,
So that there is no thing in earth or heaven
But to the unhoused spirit native is--
The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel!
Body, then, is the prison-house of soul,
And freedom is its highest happiness,
Its heaven, its primal being full of joy.
This power that holdeth thus the keys of life,
Can then at will give moments of release,
Which to the soul are as the water-brooks
That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch'd waste:
These, oft repeated, must at length destroy
The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will
A freer issue to the practised soul--
At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss,
Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time.
Yes! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul
Rise to its sister angels heavenward still;
And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose,
Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free.
Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be
A prison, but a meetest dwelling-place,