How weary must Jehovah be Of our unchanging minstrelsy, The dull, repeated monotone That falters upward to the Throne! How must Jehovah, though the spheres Make heavenly music for His ears, Amid their soulless rhythm long To hear a new, a human, song! Our filmy fashions flit and fly Like drifting clouds across the sky; Dress, manners, language, customs, range Through endless, fascinating change. But still in routine, heartless ways, The Giver of all life we praise, And while His varying seasons roll We offer Him a stolid soul. Bestir thee, grateful human heart, And learn thanksgiving's happy art! Cease the unmeaning, careless song Thy slothful lips have used so long! For each new gift of heaven, strive Some novel praises to contrive, Some paean of the life or tongue As prompt, as personal, as young! With no stale words of yesterday Thy formal obligations pay, But let thy hallelujahs rise New-fledged to greet the morning skies! Be all thy life, in word and deed, A vital hymn, a present creed, Until, amid the angel throng, You sing for aye the new New Song! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FINIS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE BLIND by EDGAR LEE MASTERS TO WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS ON TAGORE by MARIANNE MOORE AN OLD WOMAN: 2. HARVEST by EDITH SITWELL THE CARPENTER'S SON by SARA TEASDALE |