By George Sterling

Voiceless, we hear thee plead,
    O Music, bond unseen
    That God hath made between
His silence and our need.

Tho Heaven have graver speech
    Than thy communing tongue,
    Yet save as thou hast sung
Its angels may not teach.

What none shall ever say
    With sound of speech, say thou,
    Upon whose holy brow
Falls now our lesser day.

In thy compassion be
    A refuge from the mirth
    And babble of mad earth,
Till all are lost in thee.

From ways to us unshown,
    Grant us, the dumb and blind,
    The word that grief would find,
The word that love hath known.

Thy voice of joy and pain
    All worlds and times allot—
    Which lacking, love stands not,
Nor Heaven to lose or gain.

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