The echoes of old voices, wound In limpid streams of laughter where The river Time runs bubble-crowned, And giddy eddies ripple round The lilies growing there; Where roses, bending o’er the brink, Drain their own kisses as they drink, And ivies climb and twine and cling About the song I never sing. An ocean-surge of sound that falls As though a tide of heavenly art Had tempested the gleaming halls And crested o’er the golden walls In showers on my heart.... Thus—thus, with open arms and eyes Uplifted toward the alien skies, Forgetting every earthly thing, I hear the song I never sing. O nameless lay, sing clear and strong, Pour down thy melody divine Till purifying floods of song Have washed away the stains of wrong That dim this soul of mine! O woo me near and nearer thee, Till my glad lips may catch the key, And, with a voice unwavering, Join in the song I never sing. TO EDGAR WILSON NYE O “William,”—in thy blithe companionship What liberty is mine—what sweet release From clamorous strife, and yet what boisterous peace! Ho! ho! it is thy fancy’s finger-tip That dints the dimple now, and kinks the lip That scarce may sing, in all this glad increase Of merriment! So, pray-thee, do not cease To cheer me thus;—for, underneath the quip Of thy droll sorcery, the wrangling fret Of all distress is stilled—no syllable Of sorrow vexeth me—no tear-drops wet My teeming lids save those that leap to tell Thee thou’st a guest that overweepeth, yet Only because thou jokest overwell. LITTLE DAVID The mother of the little boy that sleeps Has blest assurance, even as she weeps: She knows her little boy has now no pain— No further ache, in body, heart or brain; All sorrow is lulled for him—all distress Passed into utter peace and restfulness.— All health that heretofore has been denied— All happiness, all hope, and all beside Of childish longing, now he clasps and keeps In voiceless joy—the little boy that sleeps. OUT OF THE HITHERWHERE Out of the hitherwhere into the YON— The land that the Lord’s love rests upon; Where one may rely on the friends he meets, And the smiles that greet him along the streets: Where the mother that left you years ago Will lift the hands that were folded so, And put them about you, with all the love And tenderness you are dreaming of. Out of the hitherwhere into the YON— Where all of the friends of your youth have gone,— Where the old schoolmate that laughed with you, Will laugh again as he used to do, Running to meet you, with such a face As lights like a moon the wondrous place Where God is living, and glad to live, Since He is the Master and may forgive.