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All made a magic symphony； but when
I thought upon the coming of hard men
To cut those patriarchal trees away；
And turn to gold the silver of that spray；
I shuddered。 Yet a gladness now and then
Did wake me to myself till I was glad
In earnest； and was welcoming the time
For screaming saws to sound above the chime
Of idle waters； and for me to know
The jealous visionings that I had had
Were steps to the great place where trees and torrents go。
L'Envoi
Now in a thought； now in a shadowed word；
Now in a voice that thrills eternity；
Ever there comes an onward phrase to me
Of some transcendent music I have heard；
No piteous thing by soft hands dulcimered；
No trumpet crash of blood…sick victory；
But a glad strain of some still symphony
That no proud mortal touch has ever stirred。
There is no music in the world like this；
No character wherewith to set it down；
No kind of instrument to make it sing。
No kind of instrument？ Ah； yes； there is！
And after time and place are overthrown；
God's touch will keep its one chord quivering。
End