“We now have reached the stately stairs of gold,
The city of the gods, here built of old. 
The pearled pillars rise inlaid divine,
With lotus delicately traced with vine
In gold and diamonds, pearls, and unknown gems,
That wind to capital with blooming stems
Of lilies, honeysuckles, and the rose. 
An avenue of columns in long rows
Of varied splendor, leads to shining courts
Where skilful spirit hands with perfect arts
Have chiselled glorious forms magnificent,
With ornate skill and sweet embellishment. 
Their golden sculpture view on every hand,
Or carved images in pearl that stand
In clusters on the floor, or in long rows;
And on the walls of purest pearl there glows
The painting of each act of kindest deed
Each soul performs on earth;—­is there portrayed.

“The scenes of tenderness and holy love,
There stand and never end, but onward move,
And fill the galleries of Heaven with joy,
And ever spirit artist hands employ. 
The holiest deeds are carved in purest gold,
Or richest gems, and there are stored of old;
Within the inner court a fountain stood,
Of purest diamond moulded, whence there flowed
Into a golden chalice,—­trickling cool,
The nectar of the gods,—­a sparkling pool,
That murmuring sank beneath an emerald vase
That rested underneath;—­the fountain’s base.

“We entered then an arcade arching long
Through saph’rine galleries, and heard the song
That swelling came from temples hyaline;
And passed through lazite courts and halls divine,
While dazzling glories brighter round us shone. 
How sweet then came the strains! with grander tone! 
And, oh, my King!  I reached the gates of pearl
That stood ajar, and heard the joyous whirl
That thrilled the sounding domes and lofty halls,
And echoed from the shining jasper walls. 
I stood within the gate, and, oh, my friend,
Before that holy sight I prone did bend,
And hid my face upon the jacinth stairs. 
A shining god raised me, and bade my fears
Be flown, and I beheld the glorious throne
Of crystaled light; with rays by man unknown. 
The awful god there sat with brows sublime,
With robes of woven gold, and diadem
That beamed with blazing splendor o’er his head. 
I thus beheld the god with presence dread,
The King of Kings, the Ancient of the Days,
While music rose around with joyous praise. 
With awful thunders how they all rejoice! 
And sing aloud with one commingled voice!

“What happiness it was to me, my King! 
From bower to temple I went oft to sing,
Or spread my wings above the mount divine,
And viewed the fields from heights cerulean. 
Those songs still linger on dear memory’s ear,
And tireless rest upon me, ever cheer. 
But from the Happy Fields, alas!  I woke,
And from my sight the Heavenly vision broke;
But, oh, my King, it all was but a dream!