In the stone a dream is sleeping,
Just a tinge of life, a tremor;
In the tree a soul is creeping—
Last, a rush of angels sweeping
With the skies beyond the dreamer.
So the Lord of Life is flinging
Out a splendor that conceals Him:
And the God is softly singing
And on secret ways is winging,
Till the rush of song reveals Him.
The Tragedy
Oh, the fret of the brain,
And the wounds and the worry;
Oh, the thought of love and the thought of death—
And the soul in its silent hurry.
But the stars break above,
And the fields flower under;
And the tragical life of man goes on,
Surrounded by beauty and wonder.
Divine Vision
Can it be the Master knows
How the Cosmic Blossom blows?
Yes, at times the Lord of Light
Breaks forth wonderful and white,
And He strikes a corded lyre
In a rush of whirlwind fire;
And He sees before Him pass
Souls and planets in a glass;
And within the music hears
All the motions of all spheres,
All the whispers of all feet,
Cries of triumph and retreat,
Songs of systems and of souls,
Circling to their mighty goals.
So the Lord of Light beholds
How the Cosmic Flower unfolds.