Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/26

So was he driven forth and out from men.
Then I the shadow seemed, and he the one
Who truly lived; and since it so was ruled,
And in my bosom lodges all his woe,
I build the Song, unheard except by me,
That rises in his heart; and with his voice,
Whose common words dropped singing from his lips,
My own will echo. Wherefore, yet once more,
O Muse severe, who hast in heavenly charge
My footsteps lest I fall, not without hope
Before the altar of thy ancient fire
With olden usage, holy reverence,
I come, and lay the ever-youthful verse,
His music, and invoke the Heavenly Mind:
Even Thee, who, when this whirling world began
Didst loose the music of ten thousand spheres
In one full voice that sang, and ever sings,
Glory to God: with notes below that strain—
From Thy great harmony how far removed!—
The wrath of life I sing, the spirit's woe,
Our realm of ruin; and him I go to meet,
The wrestling angel who doth wield this world
With mighty question in the soul of man
Till God shall arbitrate that argument,

Now dark and doubtful; doubtful not, nor dark,