O, soul that seest far off the light
That is not seen of human sight,
That knowest truths of God begot
And how thou knowest knowest not!
We know not what to hope or fear:
Thou speakest, but we do not hear,
Or hearing some low-whispered word,
But half believe that we have heard.
For while to us the old is new,
And youth has all its work to do,
And o’er us rear the heights sublime
That we have set ourselves to climb,
While the quick brain has thronging dreams
And spins its airy-threaded schemes
To catch the great world’s tardy praise
And glorify inglorious days--
Through all the hurrying toil and strife,
The uproar of this sordid life
In which we sorrow and rejoice,
O soul, how can we hear thy voice?
But when the heat of strife is past
And quiet folds us round at last,
And all our unaccomplished schemes
Are dimmer than remembered dreams,
When deaf ambition’s restless will
Is either satisfied or still,
And tides that rose in stormy rage
Ebb calmly from the shores of age--
O soul! in some such quiet lain
We’ll listen for thy voice again,
Our hearts by time made wise and meek,
And in the silence hear thee speak.
And listening thus and hearing thee
The light thou seest we shall see,
Shall know what thou for many a year
Wert saying when we could not hear,
And find the truth for which we yearn,
Which seems so dark and hard to learn,
A clear and simple thing that, lo!
We always knew, and did not know.