Classic Poem

As silent as the sun-gleam in the forest,
As quiet as the shadow on the hill,
Is the shining of the Spirit in our dimness,
Is the falling of its calm upon our will.

But subtler than the sun-lift in the leaf-bud,
That thrills through all the forests, making May,
And stronger than the strength that plants the mountains,
Is that shining in the heart-lands, bringing day.