Something of the wild-wood rapture,
Something of the epic passion
Of that harmony divine.
Something of the epic passion
Of that harmony divine.
Down the pathway let us follow
Through the hemlocks to the hollow,
To the woven, vine-wood thickets
In the twilight vague and old,
While the streamlet, winding after,
Is a thread of silv'ry laughter,
And the boughs above hint softly
Of the melodies they hold.
Through the hemlocks to the hollow,
To the woven, vine-wood thickets
In the twilight vague and old,
While the streamlet, winding after,
Is a thread of silv'ry laughter,
And the boughs above hint softly
Of the melodies they hold.
Through the forest, never caring
What the way our feet are faring,
We shall hear the wild birds revel
In the labyrinth of tune,
And on mossy carpets tarry
In His temples cool and airy,
Hung with silence, and the splendid
Amber tapestry of noon.
What the way our feet are faring,
We shall hear the wild birds revel
In the labyrinth of tune,
And on mossy carpets tarry
In His temples cool and airy,
Hung with silence, and the splendid
Amber tapestry of noon.
Leave the hard heart of the city
With its poverty of pity,
Leave the folly and the fashion
Wearing out the faith of men;
Breathe the breath of life blown over
Upland meadows white with clover,
And with childhood's clearer vision-
See the face of God again.
With its poverty of pity,
Leave the folly and the fashion
Wearing out the faith of men;
Breathe the breath of life blown over
Upland meadows white with clover,
And with childhood's clearer vision-
See the face of God again.
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