In all the ebony a piercing white,
The ivories so wrapping selves in dread,
But it is no dread.

These the blackboards of his genius,
These the dusk to truest dawn,
These the sea to wand'ring stars.

We hold a budding hope on winter morns,
That blackness has no sway on fullest light,
That goodness will not fall though evil fades,

That we will have it:
This eternity within our hearts.