I have heard
many songs in the course of time
But
many more songs have remained unheard; But then
there is no end to the course of time And
there are yet wide silent spaces to be stirred. All these
hours must pass like fading dreams And
all the notions of life and its mystery Deepen
into sleep that is God’s one great gift Holding
in its joy revelation’s strange memory. I am not
worried that there were wasted hours Or
that I spoke at times the vernacular of despair, For the unknown,
the unseen, is a wondrous hope And
it carries the quiet flame up on the flaming stair. But the sky
there is not a misty or tenuous blue Nor
is my unsung song made of uncertain stuff, Now that
the morn of morns, and the day of days, Has
come I tell you the unheard is not the far-off. I might have
lived unlived love for too long, Cherished
feelings that sharpen the points of pain; But ‘tis
pain that pushes unhappy things behind, -- To
such an extent that love it shall forever gain.
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