So the Lord of Life is flinging Out a splendor that conceals Him: And the God is softly singing And on secret ways is winging, Till the rush of song reveals Him. The Tragedy Oh, the fret of the brain, And the wounds and the worry; Oh, the thought of love and the thought of death-- And the soul in its silent hurry. But the stars break above, And the fields flower under; And the tragical life of man goes on, Surrounded by beauty and wonder. Divine Vision Can it be the Master knows How the Cosmic Blossom blows? Yes, at times the Lord of Light Breaks forth wonderful and white, And He strikes a corded lyre In a rush of whirlwind fire; And He sees before Him pass Souls and planets in a glass; And within the music hears All the motions of all spheres, All the whispers of all feet, Cries of triumph and retreat, Songs of systems and of souls, Circling to their mighty goals. So the Lord of Light beholds How the Cosmic Flower unfolds. Midsummer Noon Yonder a workman, under the cool bridge, Resting at mid-day, watches the glancing midge, While twinkling lights and murmurs of the stream Pass into the dim fabric of his dream. The misty hollows and the drowsy ridge-- How like an airy fantasy they seem. One Life, One Law What do we know--what need we know Of the great world to which we go? We peer into the tomb, and hark: Its walls are dim, its doors are dark. Be still, O mourning heart, nor seek To make the tongueless silence speak: Be still, be strong, nor wish to find Their way who leave the world behind-- Voices and forms forever gone Into the darkness of the dawn. What is their wisdom, clear and deep?-- That as men sow they surely reap,-- That every thought, that every deed, Is sown into the soul for seed. They have no word we do not know,-- Nor yet the cherubim aglow With God: we know that virtue saves,-- They know no more beyond the graves. Griefs The rains of winter scourged the weald, For days they darkened on the field: Now, where the wings of winter beat, The poppies ripple in the wheat. And pitiless griefs came thick and fast-- Life’s bough was naked in the blast-- Till silently amid the gloom They blew the wintry heart to bloom. An Old Road A host of poppies, a flight of swallows; A flurry of rain, and a wind that follows Shepherds the leaves in the sheltered hollows, For the forest is shaken and thinned. Over my head are the firs for rafter; The crows blow south, and my heart goes after; I kiss my hands to the world with laughter-- Is it Aidenn or mystical Ind?