Every time would have its song
If the heart were right,
Seeing Love all tender-strong
Fills the day and night.
Weary drop the hands of Prayer
Calling out for peace;
Love always and everywhere
Sings and does not cease.
Fear, the caitiff, through the night
Silent peers about;
Love comes singing with a light
And doth cast him out.
Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt
Never try to sing;
If they did, oh, what a rout
Anguished ears would sting!
Pride indeed will sometimes aim
At the finer speech,
But the best that he can frame
Is a peacock-screech.
Greed will also sometimes try:
Happiness he hunts!
But his dwelling is a sty,
And his tones are grunts.
Faith will sometimes raise a song
Soaring up to heaven,
Then she will be silent long,
And will weep at even.
Hope has many a gladsome note
Now and then to pipe;
But, alas, he has the throat
Of a bird unripe.
Often Joy a stave will start
Which the welkin rends,
But it always breaks athwart,
And untimely ends.
Grief, who still for death doth long,
Always self-abhorred,
Has but one low, troubled song,
I am sorry, Lord.
But Love singeth in the vault.
Singeth on the stair;
Even for Sorrow will not halt,
Singeth everywhere.
For the great Love everywhere
Over all doth glow;
Draws his birds up trough the air,
Tends his birds below.
And with songs ascending sheer
Love-born Love replies,
Singing Father in his ear
Where she bleeding lies.
Therefore, if my heart were right
I should sing out clear,
Sing aloud both day and night
Every month in the year!
