Darkness mingles midst the tall green pines that shadow the face of
the whole brown earth.
Doubt and despair is the fate that we share, all the days of life
from the time of one's birth.
O, see the pretty moths whose wings have been broken, and they cannot
rise with the songs of the breeze.
In silence they weep all alone, midst the shadows of the dense dark
trees.
O, see, the proud souls that weep alone, midst the shadows of the
world's despair.
Their wings all shrouded with that glory which were theirs, above in
the light of the clear bright air.
O, see the pretty things that have come from afar; all appareled in
the raiments of the homeland gay.
Marching in the path of the soul's refining, pretty things which tarry
in passing through the shadowed ways.
O, look away to the eagle's heights, see the ever green cedars how they
cling in every towering ledge.
From the tall rocks so white and serene, come stealthily down to the
river's edge.
O, see, there are enduring souls that never change; who rest secure on
higher plains in every clime and age.
Along by the rivers and above the shadows in every life that's made,
From the tiny urchin to the mighty sage.
O, see, there are violets which stand close by the rivers, chaft by
the rain and dew.
But others are strewn all along upon the mountain sides of blue.
There is some one always waiting--some one with a soul that is always
true,
Down by the rivers or upon the mountain sides in the same state as I
or you.
O, see, there are souls that have no glory, weeping beneath the mist
of gloom.
Their power is faded, before the time of noon.
It is the creator that exalts things which are his own,
In temperaments and harmony within each of their own zone.
No soul shall be reinstated by its power and might alone.