Classic Poem

The golden sun is crowning
The hills with mellow light,
The dusky shades are falling—
The eyelids of the night;
And like a low, sweet nocturn,
Dream-whispers from the west
Thrill our their shadow-music
And soothe the soul to rest.

When Nature sings to Nature
And flowers to flowers nod,
The soul's quick ear is open
To hear the voice of God—
Not in such stormful chaos
As marked the dawn of time
When from their womb of thunder
Surged the great suns sublime.

And not where the time-spirit,
With urgence of desire,
Forges the constellations—
Beats out new spheres of fire;
But in the soul's deep silence,
Like host with velvet shod,
We hear the march of history,
The silent feet of God.

We know earth's endless strivings
And tears and wailings prove
That Love is ever climbing
New Calvaries of Love.
And he that loveth never
Is wasted in the strife;
Who worship self accomplish
The tragedy of Life.

Far up the mount of beauty
Fair stands the city wall,
The gates of God are open
And life is free to all.
Abounding life unmeasured
Is theirs and theirs alone
Whose lives are clearly sounding
The universal tone.

I waken from the vision
And all the hills are bright
With pink and rose and amethyst,
A symphony of light;
And still, like sweetest nocturne,
Dream-whispers from the west
Trill out their shadow-music
And all is perfect rest.