WHEN hair of gold
Turns hair of grey;
When joys grow cold
And fade away;
Then Loves grow old,
And Loves decay.
Nay, there you miss
Love's meaning high:
Love is nor kiss
Nor lover's sigh
But inmost Bliss
That cannot die.
It is a lark!
On soaring wings,
Or day or dark
It ever sings
--O mortals hark!--
Immortal things.
It is the blood
r the Heart of God:
It brings the bud
To Aaron's rod;
And stirs the mud,
And stings the clod.
With songs unsung,
And tales untold,
With seeds unflung,
And buds unrolled,
Love will be young
Till God is old!