Children of the Night

Credo

     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!