Songs of the Spirit

And all my soul is dewed and pearled With tears of poetry. The strong mysterious spell is cast To bind and to release ; To give the devils hope at last, To the unburied peace ; To gladden the reluctant past With silent harmonies. The song grows wilder now and strives All heaven to enchain, As who should grasp a thousand lives, And draw their breath again Into some cavern where he dives, A hell of grisly pain. And now behold ! the barren Cross Bursts out in vernal flowers ; The music weeps, as on the moss The summer’s kissing showers, And there sweep, as sweeps an albatross, The happy-hearted hours. 93