The Climb of Life
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.
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