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Midway to heaven I stand between two skies:
The blue above, the purple one below.
Far down the depths the screaming eagle flies,
To solitude the solitary foe.


Clutching a shrub, and leaning o'er the brink
I see a river dwindle to a thread;
So far below parched Nature may not drink;
A vein of life still pulsing through the dead.


The soft white clouds float o'er the canyon brown,
Like troops of angels stealing from the sky;
Thus heaven smiles brightest where earth wears a frown,
While grandeur ever lifts the soul on high.


Heaven finds on earth some quiet dwelling-place,
Where e'en the skeptic must his Maker scan
And cry in awe before Him, face to face:
How infinite is God! How puny, man!