It is the sound
Raised by the sweeping of an angel's wing,
As through the air
It bears a prayer
Of the soul's uttering.
It is the sweet
Melodious echo of some thrilling thought
Retold by sadness
Unto gladness,
Which memory hath brought.
It is the hymn
Breath'd ever by the votaries of love,
Whose dulcidence,
Soft and intense,
Soars dreamily above.
It is the sign
Of Earth's fraternity, the only tie
That links us all,
Both great and small,
In common sympathy.
It is the heart
Issueing from its prison house of clay;
Perchance gladly,
Perchance sadly,
Wending on its way.