The Poet’s Soul

WOULD you know the poet’s soul,

Why he doth wondrous sing?

Come, read the tale the Rabbis told

Of Israel’s poet king.

From the orb of day, a golden ray,

From the moon its silvery beam,

From the twinkling star in heaven afar,

He took its shimmering gleam.

From the azure sky and the clouds on high,

He borrowed their mingled glow,

And the verdant green,—all the varying scene,

Of beauteous world below.

And the grateful praise for joyous days,

That comes from out the heart,

And the happy smile of romping child

Yet free from guile and art.

From the murmuring brook, its plaint he took

Whilst dreamily flowing by;

And the whispering breeze amidst the trees

Lent its low and mournful sigh.

And the dulcet note from the warbling throat

Of the lark as it soared on high,

And the linnet’s song, as it sped along

’Neath the dome of the summer sky.

And blending these beautiful things one with the other

In one harmonious whole,

The Lord breathed it into the sovereign bard,—

For such was King David’s soul.