Their pulses distance electricity,
And leave the struggling solar rays behind,
The slightest throb pervades immensity,
And instant reaches the remotest mind.

'Tis an inspiring, glorious thought to me,
Which raises me above this earthly clod,
To think the cords which bind our souls may be
Connected some way with the throne of God.

I sometimes think my wild and strange desires,
And longings after something yet unknown,
Are currents passing on those hidden wires
To lead me on and upward to that throne.

These visions often do I entertain,
And, if they are but visions, and the birth
Of fancy, still they are not all in vain;
They lift the soul above the things of earth.

They teach her how to use her wings though weak,
And all unequal to the upward flight--
The eaglet flaps upon the mountain peak,
Then cleaves the heavens beyond our utmost sight.



LINES ON AN INDIAN ARROW-HEAD.