Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue <br />In phrases unwritten and measures unsung, <br />As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea, <br />Is the song that my spirit is singing to me. <br /> <br />In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver, <br />In the roar of the surf, and the rush of the river, <br />In the rustle of leaves and the fall of the rain, <br />And on the low breezes I catch the refrain. <br /> <br />From the vapours that frame and envelop the earth, <br />And beyond, from the realms where my spirit had birth, <br />From the mists of the land and the fogs of the sea, <br />For ever and ever the songs come to me. <br /> <br />I know not its wording - its import I know - <br />For the rhythm is broken, the measure runs low, <br />When vexed or allured by the things of this life <br />My soul is merged into its pleasures or strife. <br /> <br />When up to the hill tops of beauty and light <br />My soul like a lark in the ether takes flight, <br />And the white gates of heaven shine brighter and nearer, <br />The song of the spirit grows sweeter and clearer. <br /> <br />Up, up to the realms where no mortal has trod - <br />Into space and infinity near to my God - <br />With whiteness, and silence, and beautiful things, <br />I am bourne when the voice of eternity sings. <br /> <br />When once in the winds or the dropp of the rain <br />Thy spirit shall listen and hear the refrain, <br />Thy soul shall soar up like a bird on the breeze, <br />And the things that have pleased thee will never more please.<br /><br />Ella Wheeler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-the-spirit/
