– 47 –

Dark Morning

When the dark night so thick about us lies
  None should surmise
A near sunrise,

When, low unto the sleeping valley bowed,
  A weeping cloud
Doth us enshroud,

When, although dull and heavy earth be mute
  Their jubilant salute
Alert birds flute,

Each chorister with clear and confident hymn
  Calling the seraphim
To warrant him,

Ah, then we know that with delighted zest
  Shall rightly be expressed
All we have guessed;

And know that we, when ultimate sunrise
  Hath outranged our surmise
With strange surprise,

Like homing birds, out of this darkling dream
  Flown to the Supreme,
Shall find our theme

– 48 –

Fast knit into the tissue of the symphony
  Sustained everlastingly
By the glassy sea;

For these enthusiast passages do secretly belong
  To the redeemed throng
Their new song.