by Ebenezer Jones (1820–1860)
 

WHEN the world is burning,

Fired within, yet turning

Round with face unscathed;

Ere fierce flames, uprushing,

O'er all lands leap, crushing,

Till earth fall, fire-swathed;

Up amidst the meadows,

Gently through the shadows,

Gentle flames will glide,

Small, and blue, and golden.

Though by bard beholden,

When in calm dreams folden,—

Calm his dreams will bide.