Poem March 6, 1937 Issue

A Song

IDA FULLER MOORE

Oh , what a troop of gloomy, hateful things
Have ofttimes passed before our dreaming eyes,
That would have swept us on their ghostly wings
To darkest haunts, far off from Paradise,
Had not a measure, powerful and sweet,
Rung joyously and clear within the heart,
Till, waking thought, the tones would swift repeat
As each in heavenly chorus found a part;

A measure sung by God's appointed one,
Who, though on earth, heaven's harmony had caught;
Whose task had been so well, so truly done,
That human life with melody is fraught.
And ever and anon we catch a strain
That drowns the sense of discord and of strife,
As happily we join in the refrain,
"Our God is good; our God is Love and Life."

In unison we'll sing this glorious song,
True to its harmony, each true to his own part,
Till ages of supposititious wrong
Shall from the tablet of the mind depart;
Then in the thought of that eternal Love,
And conscious of our real unity,
In true expression of the Life above,
That which is not, shall no more seem to be.

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March 6, 1937
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