Of Something greater gone, a presage proud
Of Something greater yet to be. What soul
But sometimes thrills with hauntings of a world
For long forgotten, at a glimpse begotten
Once more, then gone again? Imaginations?
Nay why not memories of a life than ours
A thousand times more blest within us buried
So deeply, the divine all-searching breath
Of Poesy alone can lure it forth.
All hail that hour when God's Redeeming Face
Shall so illume our past existences,
That through them all man's spirit shall see plain,
And to his blessed past relink Life's broken chain.





THE REIGN OF LOVE

(After Ceiriog, to a Welsh Air. Ceiriog, 1832-1887, was the Welsh Burns;
his songs to old Welsh Airs are the best of their kind.)


Love that invites, love that delights,
From hedgerow lush and leafy heights
Is flooding all the air;
Their forest harps the breezes strum,
The happy brooks their burden hum;
There's nothing deaf, there's nothing dumb,