Poems (Linn)/Earth's True Music
EARTH'S TRUE MUSIC.
LIKE the song of the bird that's nesting,
Like the surge of the summer sea,
From the far-off deeps of fancy,
Sweet music comes to me.
Like the surge of the summer sea,
From the far-off deeps of fancy,
Sweet music comes to me.
It bears to the troubled hour
The grace that the past has worn,
O'er moonlit wakes of memory
Into the present borne.
The grace that the past has worn,
O'er moonlit wakes of memory
Into the present borne.
The echo of all things tender
That ever were sung or said,
The loving words of the living,
The sacred words of the dead.
That ever were sung or said,
The loving words of the living,
The sacred words of the dead.
No sweet word ever spoken
But echoes in that song,
No noble word but whispers
Its thrilling cords along.
But echoes in that song,
No noble word but whispers
Its thrilling cords along.
Listen, oh soul! believe it,
This comes from the human heart;
I heed not the roar of the rabble,
The noise of the street and mart.
This comes from the human heart;
I heed not the roar of the rabble,
The noise of the street and mart.
And ever and ever onward
May the strain still stronger grow,
Till what I hear in my fancy,
Over all the earth shall flow.
May the strain still stronger grow,
Till what I hear in my fancy,
Over all the earth shall flow.