SPINNING.
13
Midway in that great tideless stream which pours,
And builds its shining road through trackless space,
From you to us, and us to you, must be
Some mystic place,
Where all our voices meet, and melt
Into this solemn silence which is felt,
And sense of sound mysterious brings
Where sound is not. This is God's secret. He
Sits centred in his myriads of skies,
Where seas of sound and seas of silence rise,
And break together in one note and key,
Divinely limitless in harmony!
And builds its shining road through trackless space,
From you to us, and us to you, must be
Some mystic place,
Where all our voices meet, and melt
Into this solemn silence which is felt,
And sense of sound mysterious brings
Where sound is not. This is God's secret. He
Sits centred in his myriads of skies,
Where seas of sound and seas of silence rise,
And break together in one note and key,
Divinely limitless in harmony!
SPINNING.
IKE a blind spinner in the sun,I tread my days;
I know that all the threads will run
Appointed ways;
I know each day will bring its task,
And, being blind, no more I ask.
I do not know the use or name
Of that I spin;
I only know that some one came,
And laid within
My hand the thread, and said, "Since you
Are blind, but one thing you can do."
Of that I spin;
I only know that some one came,
And laid within
My hand the thread, and said, "Since you
Are blind, but one thing you can do."
Sometimes the threads so rough and fast
And tangled fly,
And tangled fly,
