Down the days and down the years I sing, I sing. The song that I bring Is sad and gay, The old pain wins a smile there And the joy finds tears. It is the intoxicant, heart-broken joy Of stricken boughs, Of boughs with budded leaves Trailing in water; It is the dance of the snowflake That whirls and falls, Rises, then drowns In the desert of snow. In a summer garden The sobbing laugh of a blindman Who staggers among the flowers; A murmur of festival Or of children's play That reaches a graveyard; The eternal song, Delicate, poignant, That clasps but not stifles The harsh law of the world; The eternal distress, The eternal joy, Of a wandering pilgrim Deep in death and love. Deep in death and deep in love, I sing, I sing! It is my fortune and my lot To bear within my soul Gleaming and faithful, Alert to dart forth, This white ray of song That cloaks all suffering, This cry for mercy Over every joy. |