Soaring, searching, filling all the breadth and depth and height,
Welling, whelming with its peace worlds below, above!
“O my soul, how art thou to that living Splendour blind,
Sick with thy desire to see even as these men see!—
Yet to look upon them is to know that God hath shined:
Faces lit as sunlit stars, be all my light to me!”
THE ARROWMAKER
Day in, day out, or sun or rain,
Or sallow leaf, or summer grain,
Beneath a wintry morning moon