These bones have life, and this heart knows br The poem that this hand has writ br The wind of God within it blows, br The light of God, too, shines in it. br Gather the words as sands, and cast br Them in the silence of the sphere, br The imaginary sound shall last br Till thought grows deaf to all things here br Ay! then regather, word by word, br The wonder of the mystic pen, br And ye shall hear a lonely bird br Singing within the hearts of men.