Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have not tasted death. They only sing who are struck dumb by God. Acceptance. [Willard Wattles] I cannot think nor reason, I only know he came With hands and feet of healing And wild heart all aflame. With eyes that dimmed and softened At all the things he saw, And in his pillared singing I read the marching Law. I only know he loves me, Enfolds and understands -- And oh, his heart that holds me, And oh, his certain hands! In the Hospital. [Arthur Guiterman] Because on the branch that is tapping my pane A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled, Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain, I know there is Spring in the world. Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white My window frames all the day long, A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight, I know there is Song. Because even here in this Mansion of Woe Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod, Compassion and Tenderness aid me, I know There is God. Overnight, a Rose. [Caroline Giltinan] That overnight a rose could come I one time did believe, For when the fairies live with one, They wilfully deceive. But now I know this perfect thing Under the frozen sod In cold and storm grew patiently Obedient to God. My wonder grows, since knowledge came Old fancies to dismiss; And courage comes. Was not the rose A winter doing this? Nor did it know, the weary while, What color and perfume With this completed loveliness Lay in that earthly tomb. So maybe I, who cannot see What God wills not to show, May, some day, bear a rose for Him It took my life to grow. The Idol-Maker prays. [Arthur Guiterman] Great god whom I shall carve from this gray stone Wherein thou liest, hid to all but me, Grant thou that when my art hath made thee known And others bow, I shall not worship thee. But, as I pray thee now, then let me pray Some greater god, -- like thee to be conceived Within my soul, -- for strength to turn away From his new altar, when, that task achieved, He, too, stands manifest. Yea, let me yearn From dream to grander dream! Let me not rest Content at any goal! Still bid me spurn Each transient triumph on the Eternal Quest, Abjuring godlings whom my hand hath made For Deity, revealed, but unportrayed! Reveille. [Louis Untermeyer] What sudden bugle calls us in the night And wakes us from a dream that we had shaped; Flinging us sharply up against a fight We thought we had escaped. It is no easy waking, and we win No final peace; our victories are few. But still imperative forces pull us in And sweep us somehow through.