How many larks are soaring—
How many voices loud—
Their songs of praise outpouring
Where distance, like a cloud,
Is stretched above us for a screen
Lest aught of heaven be heard or seen!
Ah, should one note prevailing,
A momentary glow,
Love’s meteor light out-trailing,
Flash over us below,
Thenceforth the music of a sigh
Were earth’s divinest melody.
© John B. Tabb