Chapter II

With that, a still voice in my spirit that moved and that yearned, (There fell a great calm while it spake,) I had heard it erewhile, but the noises of life are so loud, That sometimes it dies in the cry of the street and the crowd: To the simple it cometh,--the child, or asleep, or awake, And they know not from whence; of its nature the wise never learned By his wisdom; its secret the worker ne'er earned By his toil; and the rich among men never bought with his gold; Nor the times of its visiting monarchs controlled, Nor the jester put down with his jeers (For it moves where it will), nor its season the aged discerned By thought, in the ripeness of years.

O elder than reason, and stronger than will! A voice, when the dark world is still: Whence cometh it? Father Immortal, thou knowest! and we,-- We are sure of that witness, that sense which is sent us of Thee; For it moves, and it yearns in its fellowship mighty and dread, And let down to our hearts it is touched by the tears that we shed; It is more than all meanings, and over all strife; On its tongue are the laws of our life, And it counts up the times of the dead.