At the center of Creation lies a spot of
ceaseless rest,
Where the silent spirit broodeth like a
dove upon its nest:
Round it runs the deep horizon in its golden
quiet curled,
Round it at the wheel of Motion spins the
fashion of the world.
Noiselessly thy gates swing open for their
bars are made of light,
Swinging on the raven darkness from the
outer-wall of night;
Crystal city of the Silent, built beyond
the sounds of sin,
Lift afar your swarming gateways, let the
silent myriads in.
(from the poem "Silence" by S. Miller Hageman, 1876)
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