The thing unseen, this I believe;
A word unsaid still true can be.
'Tho senses can no mantle weave
To clothe the fact in solid shape;
It still be truth eternally.
Which, shunning ought of gauds and lace,
Presents an aspect one can see
With eyes that look beyond the face,
And hear with an ethereal ear
The sound, more silent than a thought,
Reverberate of hope and fear;
An echo of the thing unseen.
For it will always be a part
Ever of the soul-crossed heart.