A Song

Oh , what a troop of gloomy, hateful thingsHave ofttimes passed before our dreaming eyes,That would have swept us on their ghostly wingsTo 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 repeatAs 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 strainThat 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."

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