Daily Whitman


Song of the Universal

  Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow,
  An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,
  High in the purer, happier air.

  From imperfection's murkiest cloud,
  Darts always forth one ray of perfect light,
  One flash of heaven's glory.

  To fashion's, custom's discord,
  To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies,
  Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard,
  From some far shore the final chorus sounding.

  O the blest eyes, the happy hearts,
  That see, that know the guiding thread so fine,
  Along the mighty labyrinth.

Posted on 02/11/2014, in literature, poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: