Page:The children of the night.djvu/71



find my way: there is no star In all the shrouded heavens anywhere; And there is not a whisper in the air Of any living voice but one so far That I can hear it only as a bar Of lost, imperial music, played when fair And angel fingers wove, and unaware, Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.

No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call, For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears. The black and awful chaos of the night; For through it all,—above, beyond it all,— I know the far-sent message of the years, I feel the coming glory of the Light!