The world is full of Song,
Yet wandering mostly,
Like homeless spirits up and down the earth
'Mongst mountains and their caves,
And valleys fair with their enchanted streams,
And ocean's billows hoarsely voiced,
Which speak all night to list'ning stars
And the fair queen, the moon ;
And 'mongst the noisy ways
Of changeful men,
Through ages countless,
Those ghosts of song
Do wander unreclaimed ;
The generations hear their voice,
On their swift journey to eternity :
Or think they do ; but only he,
The appointed bard
Can seize them as they fly
And give them forth to men incarnated in verse.
He by long travail, oft by sorrow lead,
And patient watching, 'neath the lamp of love,
Draws them around his heart, elect---
A heavenly wizardry.
Until they enter nestling
In music sweet,
And he by powers beyond, above control,
Speaks forth their message, living in a song
None ever sung before---
None else could sing.
Written by
Alfred A. Cole
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