All hearts beat to music and measure, 



Like songs of the spheres as they roll, 

 And from dreamland's far mystical treasure 



Come songbirds that sing to the soul; 

 Where the glint of the gold in fair tresses 



Hide a face that we never have seen, 

 And the infinite hope that caresses 



Kisses joys that we never may glean. 



For the wealth of the world is ideal ; 



There is bliss in the beauty of rhyme, 

 And the thoughts of the soul are the real, 



Outlasting the cycles of time. 

 And the soul is the diamond eternal 



Where spirit and power are one, 

 Brushing dross from its splendor supernal 



As dust from the eye of the sun. 



All life is a poem of glory ; 



Neither reason nor senses can grasp, 

 Till we read every verse in the story, 



And the hand of the author we clasp. 

 Then sing on sweet souls as of olden, 



With visions of soul-land that shine, 

 Till the harp of the earthly is golden 



From the hand of the Author Divine. 



