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!
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