The Town Of American Visions

(Springfield, Illinois)

IS it for naught that where the tired crowds see Only a place for trade, a teeming square, Doors of high portent open unto me Carved with great eagles, and with hawthorns rare?

Doors I proclaim, for there are rooms forgot Ripened through æons by the good and wise: Walls set with Art’s own pearl and amethyst Angel-wrought hangings there, and heaven-hued dyes:--

Dazzling the eye of faith, the hope-filled heart: Rooms rich in records of old deeds sublime: Books that hold garnered harvests of far lands, Pictures that tableau Man’s triumphant climb:

Statues so white, so counterfeiting life, Bronze so ennobled, so with glory fraught That the tired eyes must weep with joy to see And the tired mind in Beauty’s net be caught.

Come enter there, and meet To-morrow’s Man, Communing with him softly day by day. Ah, the deep vistas he reveals, the dream Of angel-bands in infinite array--

Bright angel-bands, that dance in paths of earth When our despairs are gone, long overpast-- When men and maidens give fair hearts to Christ And white streets flame in righteous peace at last.