Classic Poem

Play , lest thy soul should break O organ-player.
Thy harmonies have strength that shall up-bear
The pale and faltering thoughts of many a prayer.

Thou shalt unfurl them in a quiet place
That love and meekness make for thee, a space
Of twilight for the shining of thy face;

Calm place where those who love thee come and go,
But where I wait thee who do love thee so,
And where the touches of thy hands I know;

And know how they did tremble in such an air,
And what thy doubts and what thy changes were.
—Thou tread'st me underfoot O organ-player,

In those far tones more known and felt than heard,
The great quiet sea-deeps of the soul being stirred
That never live in storm or wake in word.

I alone shudder and moan to thy great things,
O wildly loved! and clasp thy sufferings
With arms of music cast about thy wings.

Thro' all thy meanings, all, come draw me higher.
Up to thy summit music I aspire.
Draw me. Lo, I would break, for thy desire.