Poems (Emma M. Ballard Bell)/Soul-Scenery
SOUL SCENERY.
Each human soul is in itself a world;A world with scenery more wondrous farThan in the outer world was e'er revealed.To view aright this scen'ry, we must turnOur gaze from visions of the outer world,And ope Interior Perception's eye.And trusting to its clear, discerning light,We enter now the silent realm of mind.Behold! the region of Ideas; plainsO'er which the Understanding e'er presides;Beneath these plains are caverns, where are foundIdeas innate, the truths, the primal laws,Forever coexistent with the soul;Impressed by God upon its essence; whenIt 'merged from out the deep and dark unknownTo being, in the universe of mind.'Tis Reason holds these treasures in her trust,To guard, arrange, combine, and with the aidOf other pow'rs, and other things, to bringRich gems of thought to dignify the soul.Behold! where Phantasy her mountains rear, Illumined with Imagination's light,A lovely spirit treads those mountain heights,—The spirit of the Beautiful. And allThat's noble, great, and good in human thought,The richest gems from Reason's caves profound,The flow'rs of faith, and hope, and love that bloomBeside Emotion's pure and hallowed streams,These all she bringeth to the mountain heights.Behold! upon the plains we first beheldThe spirit's temple consecrated stands.There, at his shrine, the priestesses of God,The Moral Powers, their ministries devote.Thence issue all the virtues hand in hand,And crowned with diadems of grace divine.Throughout the Soul-world ever, ev'rywhereBeside Emotion's streams, in Reason's caves,On Understanding's plains, and Fancy's heights,There floats the accents of a still, small voice,—The voice of Conscience, and the voice of God.In pow'r supreme, o'er all the other pow'rs,The sov'reign Will sits arbiter of all,—The Soul-world's destiny is in his hand. The Mighty One, Creator of all life,Eternal source of pow'r, holds life and deathBefore created Will, and sayeth, "Choose."He chooseth life;—and in the realm of MindDoth order, peace, and joy reign evermore. He chooseth death;—the light in Reason's cavesGrows dim and doubtful; Reason gropes her way;Emotion's streams grow turbid; on the heightsOf Phantasy the Beautiful may tread no more;The spirit's temple desecrated stands;The Virtues wonder with sad, downcast eyes;The still, small voice of Conscience louder grows,Until its thunders heights and caves resound;And Mem'ry in her book these things doth seal,To wait the op'ning at the Judgment-day.