Dropping down! Dropping down! From the earth's encircling crown, From each light in it which gleameth, From each silver star that beameth, There are drops of music stealing, On each thought and on each feeling, Till a holy light enshrines us, Softening the chain that binds us, Dropping on! Dropping on I Till the pain is almost gone,
Welling up I Welling up! From the flower's tiny cup, From the pure and crystal fountain, Daughter of the frowning mountain,— From the spangled frost that gleams, In the young morn's pensive beams, There are drops of music swelling, And within our bosoms dwelling,— Welling up! Welling up! Tempering life's bitter cup.
Precious drops! Precious drops! From a source that never stops;— Where is he could upward look Upon heaven's starry book, Or bending o'er the lily's folds, Breathe the music that it holds, And not feel his spirit stirred As if angel-tones he heard, Dropping down! Welling up! Sweetening life's bitter cup?
