 | English Roses |  |
THE SPIRIT OF SPACE.
In the bright gardens of the air,
Where roses blue and lilies red
Meet in a wedlock free and fair,
And weave a carpet for God's tread,
I hear a voice,
I hear a song
Which in a carol low and long
Proclaims to all the world “Rejoice!”
I see no form,
I see no face,
But music rises rich and warm;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
Where roses blue and lilies red
Meet in a wedlock free and fair,
And weave a carpet for God's tread,
I hear a voice,
I hear a song
Which in a carol low and long
Proclaims to all the world “Rejoice!”
I see no form,
I see no face,
But music rises rich and warm;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
At first some trickling drops of sound,
That in a splendid mist are spent
Before they reach the thirsty ground
So pining for their nourishment;
I hear a cry,
I hear a call
And with a music sweet to all,
As out of old eternity.
I see no wing,
I see no trace
Of angels who in glory sing;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
That in a splendid mist are spent
Before they reach the thirsty ground
So pining for their nourishment;
I hear a cry,
I hear a call
And with a music sweet to all,
As out of old eternity.
I see no wing,
I see no trace
Of angels who in glory sing;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
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Then fuller and more free like rain
A melody but not of earth,
Above our pleasure and our pain,
Descends a silver dew on dearth;
I hear a shout,
I hear a rush
Of rippling notes that glance and gush,
As if all heaven were breaking out;
I see no form,
I see no face,
The lyrist walks upon the storm;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
A melody but not of earth,
Above our pleasure and our pain,
Descends a silver dew on dearth;
I hear a shout,
I hear a rush
Of rippling notes that glance and gush,
As if all heaven were breaking out;
I see no form,
I see no face,
The lyrist walks upon the storm;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
The floodgates part, and drooping flowers
Unclose their crimson lips and slake
Their bosoms with refreshing showers
Of music, as they laugh and wake;
I hear a spell,
I hear a hope,
As if God's upper windows ope
And let the fountains leap and swell;
I see no mark,
I see no grace
Of shape in depths with sunshine dark;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
Unclose their crimson lips and slake
Their bosoms with refreshing showers
Of music, as they laugh and wake;
I hear a spell,
I hear a hope,
As if God's upper windows ope
And let the fountains leap and swell;
I see no mark,
I see no grace
Of shape in depths with sunshine dark;
It is the Spirit Bird of Space.
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