 | Poems and Romances |  |
248
MUSIC.
A spirit came out from the Lord
To play on the spirit of man,
That thrilled like a wind-shaken chord
When the hymn of the ages began;
To play on the spirit of man,
That thrilled like a wind-shaken chord
When the hymn of the ages began;
And the spirit at first was a light,
Playing over their souls as a glass,
And the whiteness thereof, in their sight,
Was full of fair colours that pass.
Playing over their souls as a glass,
And the whiteness thereof, in their sight,
Was full of fair colours that pass.
The spirit again was a stream,
Wherein their own faces seemed fair;
Till they looked and saw new faces gleam
More beautiful still in the air.
Wherein their own faces seemed fair;
Till they looked and saw new faces gleam
More beautiful still in the air.
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And they faded and left them alone;
But they fashioned, and were not forlorn,
The ghosts of that beauty in stone,
And the word and the deed were twin-born.
But they fashioned, and were not forlorn,
The ghosts of that beauty in stone,
And the word and the deed were twin-born.
And triumph and joy and defeat,
And the far-away echo of wrong,
Were musical, holy, and sweet,
For the spirit was changed to a song.
And the far-away echo of wrong,
Were musical, holy, and sweet,
For the spirit was changed to a song.
And thereafter they sought to the truth,
And the seeking was more than the sought;
For the world was forsaking her youth,
And the spirit was changed to a thought.
And the seeking was more than the sought;
For the world was forsaking her youth,
And the spirit was changed to a thought.
The spirit is changed to a sound,
Vague, shapeless, without any speech;
It is gone forth, being unbound,
Blind, aimless, of infinite reach,
Vague, shapeless, without any speech;
It is gone forth, being unbound,
Blind, aimless, of infinite reach,
That the age of our spirits might melt,
And the noise of our strife be at one,
In the raptures that never were felt
At the deeds that have never been done;
And the noise of our strife be at one,
In the raptures that never were felt
At the deeds that have never been done;
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Of a country where uttermost bliss
And anguish are almost the same,
Of whose life we know nothing but this—
It is, and it has not a name;
And anguish are almost the same,
Of whose life we know nothing but this—
It is, and it has not a name;
Where the perfume goes up from the flowers,
Where the lustre goes up from the dew,
That life which we know not is ours,
And the spirit's last song is most true;
Where the lustre goes up from the dew,
That life which we know not is ours,
And the spirit's last song is most true;
For we are what we do not know,
We shall have what we do not dream;
And our joys, and our deeds, and our woe
Are nothing, whatever they seem.
We shall have what we do not dream;
And our joys, and our deeds, and our woe
Are nothing, whatever they seem.
And the eyes of the soul shall see;
We shall find what we have not sought,
When the spirit is spirit, and free,
Not a sight, not a song, not a thought.
We shall find what we have not sought,
When the spirit is spirit, and free,
Not a sight, not a song, not a thought.
Are the wings of the spirit broken,
For the sound of his flying is still?
Is the promise ineffably spoken,
For the silence alone to fulfil?
For the sound of his flying is still?
Is the promise ineffably spoken,
For the silence alone to fulfil?
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It is darkness and silence again,
The shadowy wings are not spread,
And we echo their murmur in vain;
He is still, he is dumb, and not dead.
The shadowy wings are not spread,
And we echo their murmur in vain;
He is still, he is dumb, and not dead.
Yea, being a spirit, to die
Was never the law of his birth,
And he would not have needed to fly,
Except to come down to the earth.
Was never the law of his birth,
And he would not have needed to fly,
Except to come down to the earth.
But he rises himself, through the seas
Of the fathomless heaven, and sings,
Floating back to his Master at ease,
With our hearts folded up in his wings.
Of the fathomless heaven, and sings,
Floating back to his Master at ease,
With our hearts folded up in his wings.
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