The Inner Circle - six choruses a cappella

What is Hope? A smiling rainbow
    Children follow through the wet;
'Tis not here, still yonder, yonder:
    Never urchin found it yet.

What is Life? A thawing iceboard
    On a sea with sunny shore; --
Gay we sail; it melts beneath us;
    We are sunk, and seen no more.

What is Man? A foolish baby,
    Vainly strives, and fights, and frets;
Demanding all, deserving nothing; --
    One small grave is what he gets.

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and [bid]1 thee feed,
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee:
He is callèd by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild:
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are callèd by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Extinguish my eyes I still can see you:
Close my ears I can hear your footsteps fall:
And without feet I still can follow you:
Voiceless I can still return your call.
Break off my arms, and I can embrace you:
Enfold you with my heart as with a hand:
Hold my heart, my brain will take fire of you
As flax takes fire from a brand!
And flame will sweep in a flood:
Through all the singing currents of my blood:  Mmmmmmm....

O World, thou choosest not the better part!
It is not wisdom to be only wise,
And on the inward vision close the eyes,
But it is wisdom to believe the heart.
Columbus found a world, and had no chart,
Save one that faith deciphered in the skies;
To trust the soul's invincible surmise
Was all his science and his only art.
Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine
That lights the pathway but one step ahead
Across a void of mystery and dread.
Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine
By which alone the mortal heart is led
Unto the thinking of the thought divine.

Have you not heard his silent steps? 
He comes, comes, ever comes.

Every moment and every age, 
every day and every night
he comes, comes, ever comes.

Many a song have I sung 
in many a mood of mind, 
but all their notes have always proclaimed, 
`He comes, comes, ever comes.'

In the fragrant days of sunny April 
through the forest path 
he comes, comes, ever comes.

In the rainy gloom of July nights 
on the thundering chariot of clouds 
he comes, comes, ever comes.

In sorrow after sorrow 
it is his steps that press upon my heart, 
and it is the golden touch of his feet 
that makes my joy to shine.

Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home:
Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine.
Long through thy weary crowds I roam;
A river-ark on the ocean brine,
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam;
But now, proud world! I'm going home.

Good-bye to Flattery's fawning face;
To Grandeur with his wise grimace;
To upstart Wealth's averted eye;
To supple Office, low and high;
To crowded halls, to court and street;
To frozen hearts and hasting feet;
To those who go, and those who come;
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home.

I am going to my own hearth-stone,
Bosomed in yon green hills alone, --
A secret nook in a pleasant land,
Whose groves the frolic fairies planned;
Where arches green, the livelong day,
Echo the blackbird's roundelay,
And vulgar feet have never trod
A spot that is sacred to thought and God.

O, when I am safe in my sylvan home,
I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome;
And when I am stretched beneath the pines,
Where the evening star so holy shines,
I laugh at the lore and the pride of man,
At the sophist schools and the learned clan;
For what are they all, in their high conceit,
When man in the bush with God may meet?