The Covert Teacher of My Soul

He is the covert teacher of my soul,

The silent one observing from the wings

Who acts as Prompter, gentle guide and goal;

He is the melody my spirit sings.

He is the watcher o'er the crib of fate

The unseen presence through the tender years,

Until youth's arrogance shall dissipate,

Retreats, but on occasion reappears

When ill tides rush upon the shifting sands

And the little self is tossed upon the shore

And in its naked desolation stands

Forgetful of the crown that once it wore,

The Master whispers and the heart obeys

Though it is weakened when our loved one's die,

Yet deep within a sentient being prays

And music joins the dawning of the sky.