"For I think it is Love,
For I feel it is Love,
For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!"
By this time I could see them clearly once more. Bruno again sang by himself:
"Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning,
Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?
That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning
For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?
Whence the music that fills all our being—that thrills
Around us, beneath, and above?"
Sylvie sang more courageously, this time: the words seemed to carry her away, out of herself:
"'Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, how it goes:
But the name of the secret is Love!"
And clear and strong the chorus rang out:
"For I think it is Love,
For I feel it is Love,
For I'm sure it is nothing but Love!"
x 2
