<h2 id="id00300" style="margin-top: 4em">THE HARP</h2>
<p id="id00301">Across the wind-swept spaces of the sky<br/>
The harp of all the world is hung on high,<br/>
And through its shining strings the swallows fly.<br/></p>
<p id="id00302">The little silver fingers of the rain<br/>
Oft touch it softly to a low refrain,<br/>
That all day long comes o'er and o'er again.<br/></p>
<p id="id00303">And when the storms of God above it roll,<br/>
The mighty wind awakes its sleeping soul<br/>
To songs of wild delight or bitter dole.<br/></p>
<p id="id00304">And through the quiet night, as faint and far<br/>
As melody down-drifted from a star,<br/>
Trembles strange music where those harp-strings are.<br/></p>
<p id="id00305">But only flying words of joy and woe,<br/>
Caught from the restless earth-bound souls below,<br/>
Over the vibrant wires ebb and flow.<br/></p>
<p id="id00306">And in the cities that men call their own,<br/>
And in the unnamed places, waste and lone,<br/>
This harp forever sounds Life's undertone.<br/></p>
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