There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass.

How many a father have I seen, A sober man, among his boys, Whose youth was full of foolish noise.

The smell of violets, hidden in the green, Pour'd back into my empty soul and frame The times when I remembered to have been Joyful and free from blame.

And men, whose reason long was blind, From cells of madness unconfined, Oft lose whole years of darker mind.

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.

I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.