Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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Anand Thakur
Hark! the hours are softly calling Bidding Spring arise To listen to the rain-drops falling From the cloudy skies
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Seated one day at the organ
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Each man has some part to play.
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Lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done.
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Dreams grow holy put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming,
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Kinds hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one Have limits to its mercy; God has none.
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The stars can only shine In the dark night.
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife, / Some pure idea of a noble life / That once seemed possible?
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Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife
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It seemed the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
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One by one bright gifts from heaven Joys are sent thee here below
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I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys.
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But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
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Some pure ideal of a noble life That once seemed possible?
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On her charm’d way But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun.
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Do no cheat thy Heart and tell her, ‘Grief will pass away.’
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