poems by mary baker eddy
51
ISLE OF WIGHT
On receiving a painting of the Isle.
SLE of beauty, thou art singingTo my sense a sweet refrain;
To my busy mem'ry bringing
Scenes that I would see again.
Chief, the charm of thy reflecting,
Is the moral that it brings;
Nature, with the mind connecting,
Gives the artist's fancy wings.
Is the moral that it brings;
Nature, with the mind connecting,
Gives the artist's fancy wings.
Soul, sublime 'mid human debris,
Paints the limner's work, I ween,
Art and Science, all unweary,
Lighting up this mortal dream.
Paints the limner's work, I ween,
Art and Science, all unweary,
Lighting up this mortal dream.
Work ill-done within the misty
Mine of human thoughts, we see
Soon abandoned when the Master
Crowns life's Cliff for such as we.
Mine of human thoughts, we see
Soon abandoned when the Master
Crowns life's Cliff for such as we.
Students wise, he maketh now thus
Those who fish in waters deep,
When the buried Master hails us
From the shores afar, complete.
Those who fish in waters deep,
When the buried Master hails us
From the shores afar, complete.
