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A Symphony in the Making
God is planning greater wonders. As a player o'er the keys, Going thoughtfully and slowly, brings the world new melodies, As a dreamer, eyes before him, through starvation, hurt and ruth, Brings his dream where men may grasp it, hold it, know it for the truth, God is picking through the ages from the hearts of vibrant strings Things but yesterday unthought of, what today are undreamed things; And the world grows ever better; cries grow fainter, die away, As the eyes of stumbling mortals catch the dawning of the day.
As musicians build their music, toning, cutting out discord, So the work goes on forever in the workshop of the Lord; The whole universe His keyboard; planets far beyond our ken, And beyond them other planets, and then more, as far again, And twice farther other planets; each has some place in the score; Though the murmur comes but faintly, if we listen more and more, If we tune our ears to catch it, it shall come more near, more near, If our hearts are kept unsullied and we harken we shall hear.
Till at last all men shall hear it, coming faintly to their ears; Through the interstellar spaces catch the music of the spheres; And the weeping of the children, and the grieving of the sad, And the moan of them that hunger, and the growl of men made mad By the grinding and the squeezing of the cruel hands of greed Shall be hushed to catch the music; and whatever god or creed Men may have, if they but labor with their faces toward the dawn, They shall step into the glory when the darker days are gone.
Men who trample on their passions, turn their backs on lust and greed, Men who turn to help a brother who is crying in his need, Men who help to take the children from the spindle and the loom To wide fields where summer breezes stir the blossoms to perfume, Men who govern them with loving, who protect their tender limbs From the thoughtless blow are helping shape the gladdest of God's hymns; They are teaching love; are treading where the spike-pierced feet have trod; They are helpers to the Master; they're in partnership with God.
And it all shall throb together, roll together, reach above, Up to where the Great Musician, with more than men know of love, Lets His hands glide o'er the keyboard till they find the sought- for tune, Sweeter than the smell and gladness of ten million years of June; And men, souls attuned, shall hear it, coming faintly to their ears: Though the very sweetness of it shall suffuse their eyes with tears, Yet the tears shall be of gladness, gushing from long-hidden springs; Only love. may touch the keyboard-only love may sweep the strings.
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