To let the cloud take anchor there;
Earth, through her flowers, salutes the sky;
The sky meets earth in balmy air.
3And I was born to see and say
How beauty beams, without, within:
From the fly, made to gild a day,
To my own soul, outliving sin.
Even now I feel thy cherubim
Have come to me from thee, All-wise!--
Then, Silence, thou shalt be my hymn,