In Youth, when through our veins runs fast <br />The bright red stream of life, <br />The Soul's Voice is a trumpet-blast <br />That calls us to the strife. <br /> <br />The Spirit spurns its prison-bars, <br />And feels with force endued <br />To scale the ramparts of the stars <br />And storm Infinitude. <br /> <br />Youth passes; like a dungeon grows <br />The Spirit's house of clay: <br />The voice that once in music rose <br />In murmurs dies away. <br /> <br />But in the day when sickness sore <br />Smites on the body's walls, <br />The Soul's Voice through the breach once more <br />Like to a trumpet calls. <br /> <br />Well shall it be with him who heeds <br />The mystic summons then! <br />His after-life with loving deeds <br />Shall blossom amongst men. <br /> <br />He shall have gifts, the gift that feels <br />The germ within the clod, <br />And hears the whirring of the wheels <br />That turn the mills of God! <br /> <br />The gift that sees with glance profound <br />The secret soul of things, <br />And in the silence hears the sound <br />Of vast and viewless wings! <br /> <br />The veil of Isis sevenfold <br />To him as gauze shall be, <br />Wherethrough, clear-eyed, he shall behold <br />The Ancient Mystery. <br /> <br />He shall do battle for the True, <br />Defend till death the Right, <br />With Shoes of Swiftness Wrong pursue, <br />With Sword of Sharpness smite. <br /> <br />And, dying, he shall haply hear, <br />Like golden trumpets blown <br />For joy, far voices sweet and clear, <br />Soul-voices like his own. <br /> <br />So welcomed may he join the Throng <br />Upon the Shining Shore, <br />As one who, after wandering long, <br />Returneth home once more!<br /><br />Victor Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-voice-of-the-soul-2/
