Classic Poem

There is a song and there is one who sings;
There is no speech nor language, but their voices
Are heard, and something sorrows and rejoices
There, in the very midmost heart of things.
I hear it when the North-wind spreads his wings,
I hear it in the lonely heart's pulsations,
And in the gathered cry of mighty nations.
And clash and clamour of contending Kings.

What is it? Just a noise, an empty sound?
Melodious echoes dim that vaguely roll
Beneath the hollow heaven's insensate round
And down the empty chambers of the soul?
Nay, but the voice of God: and we have heard,
Outspoken, clear, distinct and plain — the Word .