I heard the wonderful song,
It made its home in my breast;
The music of all the world was there,
it hushed all murmur of pain or care,
A psalm of infinite rest.
Ever more clear and pure,
Ever more strong and sweet;
Till some kindred chord in the outer air,
In response to the melody throbbing there,
Sang "come" to my restless feet.
I heard the mysterious call,
I rose and followed it straight,
O'er many a mount, through many a dale,
Past blazing meadow and shady vale,
To the sunset's roseate gate.
And never a halt or stop,
Till the song I could scarcely hear;
It had sunk to an echo, faint and dim,
Of some melodious wonderful hymn,
So I knew that the end was near.
Lower and fainter yet,
And more imperceptible still,
As I journeyed on; but I climbed one day,
With courage that faltered, so steep the way,
The crest of a long, long hill.
There, far as the eye could scan,
Was naught but the fathomless deep,
While down at the crag's great base the waves
Crept in and out of the blind black caves
And whispered ever of sleep.
I looked at my hair, 'twas white;
My hands were bony and long;
The years of my life had vanished and fled,
Though they seemed but days that had quickly sped
In pursuit of that fugitive song.
Then out of the ocean's heart
Came swelling a grand refrain,
And through it there pulsed an angelic voice:
"Now weary mortal, rejoice, rejoice,
Thou hast come to thy rest again;
"The song that stole into thy breast
Was the song of an earthly love,
It was but an echo, faint, yet true,
Of that mightier song that is pealing through
The musical halls above."
Then prone on the storm-swept bluff,
My face to a golden sky,
The breezes played with my toil-stained dress,
And I waited and prayed in my loneliness
To taste of the worst, and die.