SONG OF THE MYSTIC

I walk down the Valley of Silence— Down the dim voiceless Valley—alone! And I hear not the fall of a footstep Around me, save God’s and my own; And the hush of my heart is as holy As hovers where angels have flown! Long ago was I weary of voices Whose magic my heart could not win; Long ago was I weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human—and sin. I walked through the world with the worldly; I craved what the world never gave; And I said: “In the world, each Ideal That shines like a star on life’s wave, Is wrecked on the shores of the Real, And sleeps like a dream in a grave.” And still did I pine for the Perfect, And still found the false with the true; I sought ’mid the human for heaven, And caught a mere glimpse of its blue; And I wept when the clouds of the mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the Human; And I moaned ’mid the mazes of men; Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And heard a voice call me. Since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond human ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? ’Tis my trysting-place with the Divine; And I fell at the feet of the Holy, And above me a voice said: “Be mine!” And there rose from the depths of my spirit An echo—“My heart shall be thine.” Do you ask how I live in the Valley? I weep—and I dream—and I pray. But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May; And my prayers, like a perfume from censers, Ascendeth to God, night and day. In the hush of the Valley of Silence, I dream all the songs that I sing; And the music floats down the dim Valley, Till each finds a word for a wing, That to men, like the Dove of the Deluge, A message of Peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the Silence That never shall float into speech; And I have had dreams in the Valley Too lofty for language to reach. And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley— Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces, Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the Valley, like virgins Too pure for the touch of a word! Do you ask me the place of the Valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care? It lieth afar, between mountains, And God and His angels are there; And one is the dark mount of Sorrow, And one the bright mountain of Prayer.