Here you will find the Poem The Voice of the Soul of poet Victor James Daley
In Youth, when through our veins runs fast The bright red stream of life, The Soul?s Voice is a trumpet-blast That calls us to the strife. The Spirit spurns its prison-bars, And feels with force endued To scale the ramparts of the stars And storm Infinitude. Youth passes; like a dungeon grows The Spirit?s house of clay: The voice that once in music rose In murmurs dies away. But in the day when sickness sore Smites on the body?s walls, The Soul?s Voice through the breach once more Like to a trumpet calls. Well shall it be with him who heeds The mystic summons then! His after-life with loving deeds Shall blossom amongst men. He shall have gifts?the gift that feels The germ within the clod, And hears the whirring of the wheels That turn the mills of God! The gift that sees with glance profound The secret soul of things, And in the silence hears the sound Of vast and viewless wings! The veil of Isis sevenfold To him as gauze shall be, Wherethrough, clear-eyed, he shall behold The Ancient Mystery. He shall do battle for the True, Defend till death the Right, With Shoes of Swiftness Wrong pursue, With Sword of Sharpness smite. And, dying, he shall haply hear, Like golden trumpets blown For joy, far voices sweet and clear? Soul-voices like his own. So welcomed may he join the Throng Upon the Shining Shore, As one who, after wandering long, Returneth home once more!