Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/53

 That, pining, mourns, and, mourning, longs in vain

For what's beyond the range

Of aught we know on earth—

Then sleeps or dies—mysterious from its birth!

'Tis in the seas and silent skies!

'Tis in each star that there doth rise!

In all things, small or great,

Of high or low estate!

It rises deep and solemn from the breast

Of brooding Nature, when at rest—

Unheard by Man, and yet intense

To some mysterious sense

That lies within;

A voice of pathos—pleading—as to win

An audience of Divine intelligence;

A mute appeal,

Yet eloquent, it doth reveal

A spirit there, that in its fever, moans and sighs

For unknown remedies!

Thus lives and dies,

Yet ever lives again,

As tending to some higher plane,

This sweetly urgent Voice, of deep, pathetic pain!

Beauty enhances Harmony,

And Harmony responds with equal glee,

Till both are interwoven in a sweeter dream!

Wherefore each common sight we see

Is linked to some sweet minstrelsy!

For oh! the whole intricate scheme

Of Voicing Nature tends to Good,

To Good that knoweth no alloy!

Behold it in her every mood