The twilight songs we humans still must weave—
What joy I feel would turn to tears, else;
And grief would be a shriek or dumbness’ self!
(The Voice)
O Man! ’Tis conscious Thought and Fear do captive bind thy Muse!
While Faith and Hope are wings on which upsoars all blithest Song!
And blithest, sweetest Poesy is but embodied Love.
Love!
Containing all, revealing all, Love’s the surest mentor—
The breath of Courage; the wings of Aspiring;
The true fount back of fabled Hippocrene;
The Inward Urge that shadows forth, embodies, and enshrines
Idea in truest form—yet leaves a yearning still
To wing from high to higher:
For Love’s the magnet that would draw thee up to Highest Poesy.
O Man! Let go the Earth!

(The Poet)
I hear! I hear! I more than hear—
I feel and Know it true!
And feeling, Knowing,
Glad my Muse doth upward take her flight
On wings unseen,
Whose motion is unconscious as perfume
Some vagrant wind hath lifted from a garden hid from view.
On—on—and upward, to the purest, bluest, height
Attainable by song from human breast!
Divine the Consciousness of Power t’express whate’er of Beauty moves the
Soul!
Divine the Urge that doth create Expression’s unique form!
Ah, Faith that dares,
Hope that aspires—
What boons to men ye be!
O! how to keep this pure devotion unalloyed by baser mood?
Love!
Love!
Love!
The pure chord striking,
Aye aspiring
Motive back of all Immortal Song!
William Murrell.

60