Somewhere I know in the Land of the Real
Dwells the Vision I sometimes scan ;—
That woman's secret—her heart’s ideal—
The soul of a hero,—the face of a man.

Somewhere in the music of moving street,—
Somewhere in the silence of study air,—
Throbs the pulsing chord of his footfall fleet,—
Bends his eager face to the volume rare.

Wherever he be, in field or hall,—
Mine or mountain,—sea or plain.—
As the hills reply to the bugle call
My heart re-echoes to his again.

Brave and gentle—without a fear—
With voice and hearing that wake and thrill
Hearts to enterprise high and clear,
Minds to motion with heavenly will.

How shall I know him ?—perhaps we met,—
Met and parting clasped the hand,—
Spoke, but never revealed as yet
Signs that the spirit can understand.

Though we should pass through the world unknown.—
Though in heaven beyond I find
It was God’s own image above that shone
On that magic mirror—a maiden’s mind

(For the crystal spirit, that never dies,
Translates the story of thoughts afar—
As the spectroscope, from the distant skies,
Resolves the glory of farthest star;)

I only know what my heart has felt,—
Somewhere he walks ‘mid the ways of men,
Kneels at the crosses where I have knelt,—
Knows the paths where my feet have been.

I only trust with a woman’s grace
I shall fill the purpose that God hath planned,
Whether on earth I shall see his face
Or know it beyond the Borderland.


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