Thomas Bracken

Not Understood

Not understood, we move along asunder;
 Our paths grow wider as the seasons creep
Along the years; we marvel and we wonder
 Why life is life, and then we fall asleep
        Not understood.

Not understood, we gather false impressions
 And hug them closer as the years go by;
Till virtues often seem to us transgressions;
 And thus men rise and fall, and live and die
        Not understood.

Not understood! Poor souls with stunted vision
 Oft measure giants with their narrow gauge;
The poisoned shafts of falsehood and derision
 Are oft impelled 'gainst those who mould the age,
        Not understood.

Not understood! The secret springs of action
 Which lie beneath the surface and the show,
Are disregarded; with self-satisfaction
 We judge our neighbours, and they often go
        Not understood.

Not understood! How trifles often change us!
 The thoughtless sentence and the fancied slight
Destroy long years of friendship, and estrange us,
 And on our souls there falls a freezing blight;
        Not understood.

Not understood! How many breasts are aching
 For lack of sympathy! Ah! day by day
How many cheerless, lonely hearts are breaking!
 How many noble spirits pass away,
        Not understood.

O God! that men would see a little clearer,
 Or judge less harshly where they cannot see!
O God! that men would draw a little nearer
 To one another, — they'd be nearer Thee,
        And understood.

Spirit of Song

Where is thy dwelling-place? Echo of sweetness,
 Seraph of tenderness, where is thy home?
Angel of happiness, herald of fleetness,
 Thou hast the key of the star-blazon'd dome.
    Where lays that never end
    Up to God's throne ascend,
And our fond heart-wishes lovingly throng,
    Soaring with thee above,
    Bearer of truth and love,
Teacher of heaven's tongue — Spirit of Song!

Euphony, born in the realms of the tearless,
 Mingling thy notes with the voices of Earth;
Wanting thee, all would be dreary and cheerless,
 Weaver of harmony, giver of mirth.
    Comfort of child and sage,
    With us in youth and age,
Soothing the weak and inspiring the strong,
    Illuming the blackest night,
    Making the day more bright,
Oh! thou art dear to us, Spirit of Song!

Oft in the springtime, sweet words of affection
 Are whispered by thee in thy tenderest tone,
And in the winter dark clouds of dejection
 By thee are dispelled till all sorrow has flown.
    Thou'rt with the zephyrs low,
    And with the brooklet's flow,
And with the feathered choir all the year long;
    Happy each child of thine,
    Blest with thy gifts divine,
Charming our senses, sweet Spirit of Song!