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FABER'S HYMNS. |
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There are sounds, like flakes of snow falling In their silent and eddying rings ;
We tremble, — they touch us so lightly, Like the feathers from angels' wings.
There are pauses of marvellous silence.
That are full of significant sound, Like music echoing music
Under water or under ground.
That clarion again ! through what valleys
Of deep inward life did it roll, Ere it blew that astonishing trumpet
Right down in the caves of my soul ?
My mind is bewildered with echoes,— Not all from the sweet sounds without;
But spirits are answering spirits In a beautiful muffled shout.
Oh cease then, wild Horns! I am fainting;
If ye wail so, my heart will break ; Some one speaks to me in your speaking
In a language I cannot speak.
Though the sounds ye make are all foreign, How native, how household they are ;
The tones of old homes mixed with Heaven, The dead and the angels, speak there. |
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