83
NOT ON A CHOSEN DAY.
Not in the lingering caress
Doth love its purest rapture gain,
Words have no power to express
Our highest flights of joy or pain.
The soul in quietness alone
Attains the hidden source of power,
The truth most deeply of us known
Comes in the solitary hour.
Nor is it on a chosen day
Shall dawn the gift that satisfies,
But in its own dear time and way
And with the sweetness of surprise.
'Tis when the heart is least aware
That Beauty softly steals within,
To call us from our dwarfing care
And make us to herself akin.
Nor can we ever at our will
Evoke the higher vision true,
But we can listen and be still
And let the Infinite shine through.
