The Gleaming Head Of One Fine Friend Is Bent Above My Little Song, So Through The Treasure-Pits Of Heaven In Fancy'S Shoes, I March Along. I Wander, Seek And Peer And Ponder In Splendor'S Last Ensnaring Lair - 'Mid Burnished Harps And Burnished Crowns Where Noble Chariots Gleam And Flare: Amid The Spirit-Coins And Gems, The Plates And Cups And Helms Of Fire - The Gorgeous-Treasure-Pits Of Heaven - Where Angel-Misers Slake Desire! O Endless Treasure-Pits Of Gold Where Silly Angel-Men Make Mirth - I Think That I Am There This Hour, Though Walking In The Ways Of Earth!