UPPER AIR (To E. P. H.)

The chariot of the dawn rolls in And, far above all care, As freely as the gladsome lark My thought finds upper air. My thought finds upper air with thee: O fear thou not, I pray, That such rare visions of the soul Unfit us for the way, Our feet must journey. ’Tis not so: For look thou—as we soar Is there not glory in the vale We never saw before? Yet was there glory in the vale And you and I were there— The same blue sky was over head, The same fond, brooding care Was over us: yet we were blind Till Love, like him of old, Laid on our eyes his healing hand, And lo, we now behold Life as it is. Yet more and more, As time shall roll away, I trow new glories will unfold, We dream not of to-day. My thought finds upper air, my love, And thou art with me there— The glory of the mountain heights We’ll carry everywhere.