CRUCE AND CORONA.
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Its beauty, its sublimity shall restA strong eternal pow'r within her soul.
None ever came aright to Art's high shrineTo minister, whose souls have never knownBaptism of the infinite; and noneWithout it can the crown of genius claim.As yet, the revelation in her soulIs but the dawning of creative pow'r.With rapture thrills her spirit gazing onThe master-works of mighty artist souls.These works become her study, and she dwellsAmid the regions of the beautiful,As in her true, her Heav'n-appointed sphere.
One only central thought, one wish, is hers;That heights of her ideals she may reach,And know at death her destiny fulfilled.
Within a temple dedicate to artCorona in her studio is seen.Her fingers, wand'ring o'er the canvas, traceThe likenesses of forms by others traced,Now gone to win the laurel crowns of Heav'n.
A few short years have passed. The wreath of fameIs resting brightly on Corona's brow;
