the desert
Angels descend and minister unto her; she herself knoweth
Naught of her glorious attendance; but follows faithful and humble,
Follows so long as she may her friend; oh do not reject her,
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the keys of the heavens. 
Prayer is Innocence’ friend; and willingly flieth incessant
’Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon of heaven,
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an exile, the Spirit
Tugs at his chains evermore, and struggles like flame ever upward. 
Still he recalls with emotion his Father’s manifold mansions,
Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blossomed more freshly the flowerets,
Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played with the winged angels. 
Then grows the earth too narrow, too close; and homesick for heaven
Longs the wanderer again; and the Spirit’s longings are worship;
Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and its tongue is entreaty. 
Aid when the infinite burden of life descendeth upon us,
Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the earth, in the graveyard,
Then it is good to pray unto God; for his sorrowiug children
Turns he ne’er from his door, but he heals and helps and consoles them,
Yet is it better to pray when all things are prosperous with us,
Pray in fortunate days, for life’s most beautiful Fortune
Kneels before the Eternal’s throne; and with hands interfolded,
Praises thankful and moved the only giver of blessings. 
Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that comes not from Heaven? 
What has mankind forsooth, the poor! that it has not received? 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray!  The seraphs adoring
Cover with pinions six their face in the glory of him who
Hung his masonry pendent on naught, when the world be created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament utters his glory. 
Races blossom and die, and stars fall downward from heaven,
Downward like withered leaves; at the last stroke of midnight, millenniums
Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees them, but counts them as nothing
Who shall stand in his presence?  The wrath of the judge is terrific,
Casting the insolent down at a glance.  When he speaks in his anger
Hillocks skip like the kid, and mountains leap like the roebuck. 
Yet,—­why are ye afraid, ye children?  This awful avenger,
Ah! is a merciful God!  God’s voice was not in the earthquake,
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the whispering breezes. 
Love is the root of creation; God’s essence; worlds without number
Lie in his bosom like children; he made them for this purpose only. 
Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed forth his spirit
Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven. 
Quench, oh quench not that flame!  It is the breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death.  Not father,