Centuries long in her antechambers tarrying,

Lost in strange mazes, wandering, dissatisfied—in sin and sorrow, lonely despised and fallen—

At length the soul returns to Paradise.

(O joy! the old burden, passing words!)

* * * * *

The humble-bee among the currant blooms hangs centuries long suspended; the lark still carols a mere speck in the sky.

* * * * *

Centuries long in her antechambers tarrying,

Lost in strange mazes, wandering dissatisfied,

Out of the windows peering wondering longing,

Following the shadowy angel—by others unseen—that comes and beckons,

Leaving all, leaving house and home, leaving year-long plans and purposes, ease and comfort,

Leaving good name and reputation and the sound of familiar voices, untwining loved arms from about her neck, yet twining them closer than ever—

Through the great gates, redeemed, liberated, suddenly in joy over the whole universe expanding—after her many thousand year long exile,

At length the soul returns to Paradise.

* * * * *

Cinderella the cinder-maiden sits unbeknown in her earthly hutch;

Gibed and jeered at she bewails her lonely fate;

Nevertheless youngest-born she surpasses her sisters and endues a garment of the sun and stars,

From a tiny spark she ascends and irradiates the universe, and is wedded to the prince of heaven.