deeper at the breast of earth.
Take your harps and sing with me The deathless song of our Belovèd. Nay, my maidens, stay your hands. Lay by your harps. We cannot sing Him now. The faint whisper of our song cannot reach His tempest, Nor pierce the majesty of His silence.
Lay by your harps and gather close around me, I would repeat His words to you, And I would tell you of His deeds, For the echo of His voice is deeper than our passion.