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HAVE you ever in deep meditation sat down by the hearth in your home And telegraphed back to your childhood, to the scenes that are never outgrown In your mind--in those cells called subconscious, those marvels in mystery's web That are timed to the touch of the Artist, contained in the house of the head? This ingenious, this wireless battery, responsive to every thought-call, In a moment is over the ocean and tracing the old Chinese Wall; In a moment is up in the Arctic and watching the seals in their play And then as a wireless message, to the Antarctic haunts, flies away. A "code" quite your own is this mystery, with pages and volumes in print Which none but your key may interpret, pronounced as an arrow of flint; Complete in identities carving and yet with a wireless wave, It ripples through sunbeams from Heaven, to our "port" from its dawn to its grave. It may dance on the lawn with the fairies; the world with its natural eye May never observe the fair picture, let down from a wireless sky, But the grass-blades are kissed by the dewdrops; with nectar their joy-cups fill; All aglow with the beams of the morning, when the rays may stream down o'er the hill. Wave-motions that dance on the ether convey in a manner sublime Through wireless, the Faith Meditations, through the spark from the Portal Divine, To the Captains, the Lords and the Peasants--each life its identified scroll, And the Power House ticks off its message, to the Brain and the Heart and the Soul. |
