FOR some abiding central source of power,

Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow

And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below,

The vain tumultuous passions of the hour

Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun

Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast

O’er all the shattered ruins of my past

A strong contentment as of battles won.

And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear

The long drawn pageant of your passage roll

Magnificently forth into the night.

To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere

Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight,

O even wings of music, bear my soul!

Ye have the power, if but ye............