Gifted for Giving

Be true, O poet, to your gift divine!
And let your heart go throbbing through your line.
Till it grows vital with the life that burns
In joy and grief, in faith and doubt, by turns,
And full, complete expression gives to these
In the clear ringing of its cadences!
Pour your soul's passion through the tide of song,
Nor ask the plaudits of the changeful throng.
Sing as the bird sings, when the morning beam
With gentlest touch awakes it from its dream,
And life and light, their motion and their glow,
Gush through the song, with flow and overflow;
Sing as the stream sings, winding through the maze
Of woods and meadows with no thought of praise,
Its murmurous music, or in storm or calm,
Blending its low, sweet notes with Nature's psalm
Sing as the wind sings, when the forest trees
Are vocal with its mystic melodies,
And every leaf lifts up its tiny harp
To answer back in tones distinct and sharp.
Though purblind men, the devotees of greed, 
To song or singer give but little heed, 
And the deaf multitudes refuse to turn 
From Mammon's shrines diviner lore to learn. 
The angels, in their starry homes, shall know 
How true a spirit walks the earth below,
And, pausing in their song, to list your lyre, 
Shall whisper through the spaces, “Come up higher!"