Lyra Innocentium

Go where the waters fall,
Sheer from the mountain's height—

Mark how a thousand streams in one,—
One in a thousand on they fare,
Now flashing to the sun,
Now still as beast in lair.
Now round the rock, now mounting o'er,
In lawless dance they win their way,
Still seeming more and more
To swell as we survey,

They rush and roar, they whirl and leap,
Not wilder drives the wintry storm.
Yet a strong law they keep,
Strange powers their course inform.

Even so the mighty skyborn stream
Its living waters from above,
All marred and broken seem,
No union and no love.

Yet in dim caves they softly blend
In dreams of mortals unespied:
One is their awful end,
One their unfailing Guide.
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