THE greatest friend, the friend that dwells with thee,

When the wild turmoil of the world is thrust

Aside, when e'en thy smile may rest, that shield,

That weapon, armour, gauntlet, laid aside,

Will leave thy soul to sculpt thy features with

Her own deep chisel; when before thyself

Thou standest, as before thy judge and master,

An outcry goeth forth from thee towards

Thyself, then will great solitude enfold

Thee, and her wings will hush the tempest.

Fear not that angel's gravity, the look

His searching eye will plunge into thy heart.

Fear not the whisp'ring of his lips: Remember!

For ev'ry word of thine, each working of

Thy soul is booked, indelible the writing,

It is encircled in the movement of

The worlds and has its history. Thy soul,

Itself a world, belongs to Solitude. It is

So lonely that no crowd of friends, nor e'en

One friend can take its loneliness away.

There is but Solitude that can surround

Thy soul with beings and thy heart with sight.

It opens wide the floodgates of thy thought,

And what the world repressed, hemmed in and stifled,

Will rush like living waters through thy brain

And sweep away the nothingness of things.

Great Solitude will let thee listen. Hark!

The voices of the Infinite are singing,

The thoughts of thousands who have thought before thee

Come crowding round thy brain and fill the air,

And seek a new expression on thy lips.

Thou art in such ennobling company,

That Solitude becomes the gorgeous feast,

For which thy soul is clothed in white and purple,

Thy feet unshod tread on the holy ground

Where God has spoken. Hark! Great Solitude

Hath thousand voices and a flood of light,

Be not afraid, enter the Sanctuary,

Thou wilt be taken by the hand and led

To Life's own fountain, never-ending Thought!