Change though the world may as fast
C. Matthews
Change though the world may as fast
as cloud-collections,
home to the changeless at last
fall all perfections.
Over the thrust and the throng,
freer and higher,
echoes your preluding song,
god with the lyre.
Sorrow we misunderstand,
love we have still to begin,
death and what's hidden therein
await unveiling.
Song alone circles the land,
hallowing and hailing.