It steals among us, creeps into our daily cares,
That whisper in the whirlwind you always knew was there.
However high the walls, how indifferent we are to hear,
Beauty comes, insidious in its mercy, and lodges in the ear,
From there to spread its glory, hold prisoner our dead resolve.
Now we are free and large enough to attend on God.
Others will say I dream. But no, I have heard the familiar
Music of my soul rising to splendid and abundant life.