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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523199" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Harps of Heaven</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">On a solemn day<br>I clomb the shining bulwark of the skies:<br>Not by the beaten way,<br>But climbing by a prayer,<br>That like a golden thread hung by the giddy stair<br>Fleck'd on the immemorial blue,<br>By the strong step-stroke of the brave and few,<br>Who, stirr'd by echoes of far harmonies,<br>Must either lay them down and die of love,<br>Or dare<br>Those empyrean walls that mock their starward eyes.<br>But midway in the dread emprize<br>The faint and fainter footsteps cease;<br>And, all my footing gone,<br>Like one who gathers samphire, I hold on,<br>And in the swaying air look up and down:<br>And up and down through answering vasts descry<br>Nor Earth nor Heaven;<br>Above,<br>The sheer eternal precipice; below,<br>The sheer eternal precipice.<br>Then when I,<br>Gigantic with my desperate agony,<br>Felt even<br>The knotted grasp of bodily despair<br>Relaxing to let go,<br>A mighty music, like a wind of light,<br>Blew from the imminent height,<br>And caught me in its splendour; and, as flame<br>That flickers and again aspires,<br>Rose in a moment thither whence it came;<br>And I, that thought me lost,<br>Pass'd to the top of all my dear desires,<br>And stood among the everlasting host.<br>Then turn'd I to a seraph whose swift hands,<br>That lived angelic passion, struck his soul<br>Upon a harp-a seraph fair and strong,<br>And faultless for his harp and for his throne,<br>And yet, among<br>The Strength and Beauty of the heavenly bands,<br>No more to be remember'd than some one<br>Poor warrior, when a king of many kings<br>Stamps on the fields, and rears his glittering crop<br>Of standing steel, and the vex'd spirit wings<br>Above the human harvest, and in vain<br>Begins from morn till eve to sum the embattled plain;<br>Or when,<br>After a day of peace, sudden and late<br>The beacon flashes and the war-drums roll,<br>And through the torches of the city gate,<br>All the long winter night a martial race<br>Streams to the nation's gathering-place,<br>And, like as water-drop to water-drop,<br>Pour on in changeless flood the innumerable men.<br>I turn'd, and as from footing in mid-seas<br>Looking o'er lessening waves thou may'st behold<br>The round horizon of unshadow'd gold,<br>I, standing on an amethyst, look'd round<br>The moving Heaven of Harpers throned and crown'd,<br>And said, 'Was it from these<br>I heard the great sound?' And he said, 'What sound?'<br>Then I grown bolder, seeing I had thriven<br>To win reply-'This that I hear from thee,<br>This that everywhere I hear,<br>Rolling a sea of choristry<br>Up and down the jewel of Heaven;<br>A sea which from thy seat of light,<br>That seems more loud and bright<br>Because more near,<br>To the white twinkle of yon furthest portal,<br>Swells up those circling shores of chrysolite,<br>And, like an odorous luminous mist, doth leap the eternal walls,<br>And falls<br>In wreaths of melody<br>Adown the azure mountain of the sky;<br>And round its lower slopes bedew'd<br>Breathes lost beatitude;<br>And far away,<br>Low, low, below the last of all its lucent scarps,<br>Sprinkles bewildering drops of immortality.<br>O angel fair, thou know'st what I would say-<br>This sound of harpers that I hear,<br>This sound of harpers harping on their harps.'<br>Then he bent his head<br>And shed a tear<br>And said,<br>'I perceive thou art a mortal.'<br>Then I to him-'Not only, O thou bright<br>Seraphic Pity! to a mortal ear<br>These sacred sounds are dear,<br>Or why withholdest not thy ceaseless hand?<br>And why,<br>Far as my dazzled eye<br>Can pierce the lustre of the radiant land,<br>See I the rapt celestial auditory,<br>Each, while he blessed hears, gives back his bliss<br>With never-tiring touch from golden harps like this?'<br>Then he to me-'Oh, wherefore hast thou trod<br>Beyond the limit of thine earthly lot?<br>These that we bear<br>Within our hands are instruments of glory,<br>Wherewith, day without night,<br>We make the glory of immortal light<br>In the eyes of God.<br>As for the sound, we hear it not;<br>Yet, speaking to thee, child of ignorance,<br>I do remember that I loved it once,<br>In the sweet lower air.'<br>Yet he spake once more,-<br>'But thou return to the remember'd shore;<br>Why shouldst thou leave thy nation,<br>Thy city, and the house of all most dear?<br>Do we not all dwell in eternity?<br>For we have been as thou, and thou<br>Shalt be as we.'<br>And he lean'd and kissèd me,<br>Saying, 'But now<br>Rejoice, O child, in other joys than mine<br>Hear the dear music of thy mortal ear<br>While yet it is the time with thee,<br>Nor make haste to thine exaltation,<br>Though our state be better than thine.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sydney+Thompson+Dobell">Sydney Thompson Dobell</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=523199" data-title="The Harps of Heaven de Sydney Thompson Dobell" data-description="On a solemn day
I clomb the shining bulwark of the skies:
Not by the beaten way,
But climbing by a prayer,
That like a golden thread hung by the giddy stair
Fleck'd on the immemorial blue,
By the strong step-stroke of the brave and few,
Who, stirr..."></div>
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