The Purer Sense

LEONARD H. GIBSON, JR.

MINE eyes behold the teeming earth,—
The brooks, the flowers, the trees,
The aspiring hills, the valleys deep,
Meadow and field and forest steep,
Sunshine and shadow, calm and storm,
Bird and beast : the human form
Ruling o'er all of these.

Mine ears drink in earth's melody,—
The pagan pipes of Pan,
The singing of the joyous bird,
The breeze's murmur softly heard,
The beating waves, the waterfall,
The thunder's crash; sweeter than all,
The varied voice of man.

But thought perceives yet other things :
Not music of the grove,
Not sight, nor touch, nor fragrance rare
With Mind's ideas can compare,
For heavenly sight in Mind appears,
And peerless music of the spheres:
The radiant sense of Love.

Let my remembrance ever be
That purer sense which leads to Thee.

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