THE VOICE OF THE SOUL
by: Victor James Daley
- N Youth, when through our veins
- The bright red stream of life,
- The Souls Voice is a trumpet-blast
- That calls us to the strife.
- The Spirit spurns its prison-bars,
- And feels with force endued
- To scale the ramparts of the stars
- And storm Infinitude.
- Youth passes; like a dungeon grows
- The Spirits house of clay:
- The voice that once in music rose
- In murmurs dies away.
- But in the day when sickness sore
- Smites on the bodys walls,
- The Souls Voice through the breach once more
- Like to a trumpet calls.
- Well shall it be with him who heeds
- The mystic summons then!
- His after-life with loving deeds
- Shall blossom amongst men.
- He shall have gifts--the gift that feels
- The germ within the clod,
- And hears the whirring of the wheels
- That turn the mills of God!
- The gift that sees with glance profound
- The secret soul of things,
- And in the silence hears the sound
- Of vast and viewless wings!
- The veil of Isis sevenfold
- To him as gauze shall be,
- Wherethrough, clear-eyed, he shall behold
- The Ancient Mystery.
- He shall do battle for the True,
- Defend till death the Right,
- With Shoes of Swiftness Wrong pursue,
- With Sword of Sharpness smite.
- And, dying, he shall haply hear,
- Like golden trumpets blown
- For joy, far voices sweet and clear--
- Soul-voices like his own.
MORE POEMS BY VICTOR JAMES DALEY
"The Voice of the Soul"
is reprinted from The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse.
Ed. Nicholson & Lee. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1917.