The Climb of Life

There’s a feel of all things flowing, And no power of Earth can bind them; There’s a sense of all things growing, And through all their forms a-glowing Of the shaping souls behind them.

And the break of beauty heightens With the swiftening of the motion, And the soul behind it lightens, As a gleam of splendor whitens From a running wave of ocean.

See the still hand of the Shaper, Moving in the dusk of being: Burns at first a misty taper, Like the moon in veil of vapor, When the rack of night is fleeing.

In the stone a dream is sleeping, Just a tinge of life, a tremor; In the tree a soul is creeping— Last, a rush of angels sweeping With the skies beyond the dreamer.

So the Lord of Life is flinging Out a splendor that conceals Him: And the God is softly singing And on secret ways is winging, Till the rush of song reveals Him.