There are all grades of beings, from the monad to the highest intelligences, and man occupies his position in the endless chain.  Could you hear and see, as seraphs listen and behold, you would hear one continuous song of glad praise go up from all creation; you would see all things radiant with smiles, reflecting the joys of heaven.  And why?  Because they follow nature’s leading, and, in doing so, live and move in harmony.

Who can scale the heights above us, or fathom the depths below us?  Who can comprehend the magnitude of countless worlds that roll in space-the distance that separates the nearest orb from our earth, the worlds of being in a drop of water, the mighty array of angel forms that fill immensity?

Well may we exclaim, “Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord of Hosts, and that my soul knoweth right well!”

A VISION OF HEAVEN.

    Night had shed its darkness round me;
        Wearied with the cares of day,
    Rested I. Sleep’s soft folds bound me,
        And my spirit fled away. 
    As on eagle pinions soaring,
        On I sped from star to star,
    Till heaven’s high and glistening portals
        Met my vision from afar. 
    Myriad miles I hasted over;
        Myriad stars I pass‚d by: 
    On and on my tireless spirit
        Urged its ceaseless flight on high. 
    Planets burned with glorious radiance,
        Lighting up my trackless way;
    On I sped, till music coming
        From the realms of endless day
    Fell upon my ear,—­as music
        Chanted by celestial choirs
    Only can,—­and then my spirit
        Longed to grasp their golden lyres
    Stood I hear that portal wondering
        Whether I could enter there: 
    I, of earth and sin the subject,
        Child of sorrow and of care! 
    There I stood like one uncalled for,
        Willing thus to hope and wait,
    Till a voice said, “Why not enter? 
        Why thus linger at the gate? 
    “Know me not?  Say whence thou comest
        Here to join our angel band. 
    Know me not?  Here, take thy welcome-
        Take thine angel-sister’s hand.” 
    Then I gazed, and, gazing, wondered;
        For ’t was she who long since died,—­
    She who in her youth departed,
        Falling early at my side. 
    “Up,” said she, “mid glorious temples! 
        Up, where all thy loved ones rest! 
    They with joy will sing thy welcome
        To the mansions of the blest. 
    Mansions where no sin can enter,
        Home where all do rest in peace;
    Where the tried and faithful spirit
        From its trials finds release;
    “Golden courts, where watchful cherubs
        Tune their harps to holy praise;
    Temples in which countless myriads
        Anthems of thanksgiving raise.”