Delving deeper, more divinely

Into glories of love and service;

High above the maddening marts of men,

Of dire machines, for murder built,

That sow and reap the woes of war.

O immortal man, high grown saint and prophet,

Beloved father, I come—ere long, I come!

Even now and here, earth-bound as I am, I rise

To meet and greet thee,

In God’s pure heights,