As mothers give great drums to little boys,
To teach us sadly how much outward din
Is based on bland vacuity within?
“Who, untouched, could leave
Those Hebrew songs that triumph, trust, or grieve?
Verses that smite the soul as with a sword,
And open all the abysses with a word?
How many a soul have David’s tears washed white,
His wings borne upward to the Source of light!
How many his triumph nerved with martyr-will,