Poem November 13, 1937 Issue

The Master Chord

EVA B. ROWE

The "still small voice" is to the listening heart
As "voice of many waters," or the sound
Of muted thunders after storm! My ears,
So dull and ill-attuned, heard not life's deep
And major chords, but long had known full well
Its fluted minors—surface tones that please,
Yet do not satisfy. My slumbering sense
Now feels the beat of strong and vibrant power
That wakes my very being with its rich
And moving cadence—Life articulate!
The harsh, cold dissonance of years misspent
In vainly seeking other gods and strange,
Resolves into divinest consonance.
I stand erect, the universe of Mind
Revealed! The singing stars, God's joyful sons,
And all creation safe, upheld in fixed
And rhythmic law—for Principle divine
And harmony immutable is one!
A solemn hush; and then the music swells:
Majestic, live, and free; the tone prolonged
Now rolls to diapason full! Love! Love!
The master chord! The thunder of the Word!