rtain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.

EMILY DICKINSON.

* * * * *

THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN.

High thoughts!
They come and go,
Like the soft breathings of a listening maiden,
While round me flow
The winds, from woods and fields with gladness laden:
When the corn's rustle on the ear doth come--
When the eve's beetle sounds its drowsy hum--
When the stars, dew-drops of the summer sky,
Watch over all with soft and loving eye--
While the leaves quiver
By the lone river,
And the quiet heart
From depths doth call
And garners all--
Earth grows a shadow
Forgotten whole,
And heaven lives
In the blessed soul!

High thoughts
They are with me
When, deep within the bosom of the forest,
Thy mourning melody
Abroad into the sky, thou, throstle! pourest.
When the young sunbeams glance among the trees--
When on the ear comes the soft song of bees--
When every branch has its own favorite bird
And songs of summer from each thicket heard!--
Where the owl flitteth,
Where the roe sitteth,
And holiness
Seems sleeping there;
While nature's prayer
Goes up to heaven
In purity,
Till all is glory
And joy to me!

High thoughts!
They are my own
When I am resting on a mountain's bosom,
And see below me strown
The huts and homes where humble virtues blossom;
When I can trace each streamlet through the meadow,
When I can follow every fitful shadow--
When I can watch the winds among the corn,
And see the waves along the forest borne;
Where blue-bell and heather
Are blooming together,
And far doth come
The Sabbath bell,
O'er wood and fell;
I hear the beating
Of nature's heart:
Heaven is before me--
God! thou art.

High thoughts!
They visit us
In moments when the soul is dim and darkened;
They come to bless,
After the vanities to which we hearkened:
When weariness hath come upon the spirit--
(Those hours of darkness which we all inherit)--
Bursts there not through a glint of warm sunshine,
A winged thought which bids us not repine?
In joy and gladness,
In mirth