Credo by Edwin Arlington Robinson

I CANNOT find my way: there is no star

In all the shrouded heavens anywhere; / And there is not a whisper in the air

Of any living voice but one so far

That I can hear it only as a bar

Of lost, imperial music, played when fair

And angel fingers wove, and unaware, / Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.

No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call, / For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,

The black and awful chaos of the night; / For through it all - above, beyond it all -

I know the far-sent message of the years, / I feel the coming glory of the Light.