Edwin Arnold

We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
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We are the voices of the wandering wind,
Which moan for rest and rest can never find;
Lo! as the wind is so is mortal life,
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife.

A little rain will fill
The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.

A little rain will fill
The lily's cup which hardly moists the field.

Early violets blue and white
Dying for their love of light.

Early violets blue and white
Dying for their love of light.

That rich celestial music thrilled the air
From hosts on hosts shining ones, who thronged
Eastward and read more

That rich celestial music thrilled the air
From hosts on hosts shining ones, who thronged
Eastward and westward, making bright the night.

Making all future fruits of all the pasts.

Making all future fruits of all the pasts.