"Yea, dreamer, down in life's great sombre plain
The Muses dwell, for song was truly made
To soothe life's sorrows and relieve its pain!
"Therefore be not cast down nor yet afraid,
For if in singing thou dost ever strive
To comfort fellow travellers thro' life's glade,
"To cheer them on, their failing hopes revive
With the glad tinkle of thy simple lays,
Thine efforts shall be blest; thy songs survive
"In some fond hearts. But ne'er let human praise
Be goal to which thine inmost hopes aspire;
Be as the brooklet that thro' lonely ways
"Unconscious pours its treasure: no desire
Of praise or glory prompts its generous will;
Let music of thy soul attune thy lyre,—
"For, only songs born of the authentic thrill
Of soul-pulsations truly reach the soul
Of man, and there strike answering chords."
