[Author List]    [Home]


Alice Cary
1820 - 1871


The truth lies round about us,

All too closely to be sought:

So open to our vision that

'Tis hidden to our thought.

We know not what the glories

Of the grass, the flower, may be:

We needs must struggle for the sight

Of what we always see.

Waiting for storms and whirlwinds,

And to have a sign appear,

We deem not God is speaking

In the still small voice we hear.

In reasoning proud, blind leaders

Of the blind through life we go;

And do not know the things we see,

Nor see the things we know.

Single and indivisible,

We pass from change to change,

Familiar with the strangest things,

And with familiar strange.

We make the light through which we see

The light, and make the dark:

To hear the lark sing we must be

At heaven's gate with the lark.


[Author List]       [Home]