Sun, moon and stars, and the living consciousness that I am I, supreme;
A sense of nearness unto hidden mysteries that overreach the dark,
And claim my spirit as their own.
ANTIPHONAL.
When I am gone the stones will talk of me,
The elm-trees speak together in the blast, as now,
And weep that I shall never more return;
And, be it that the dust shall grasp the throat of prayer, and strangle it,
My hands, white-rising from the earth,
Will try again to sweep the lyre of song,