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O Thou great Father and Progenitor,
Dispensing form to mists ethereal, Thou universal Builder and great One, Transcending heaven, plain and sea; The world-soul animating all, And calling latent life to glories new, Supreme, yet dwelling in the merest stone, Directing all things to the perfect state! Teach me to nurture then, within my breast, Traces of the world-Creator's self Infused to mortal members at my birth. Thus shall I rest a part of the great One: I cannot die, the world-soul is within Which wakes, to sleep in Thee, and wake again. |
PART III
SONGS FOR THE SEASONS
CREATION MORN
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An oily tide on a shining beach,
Then, out as far as the eye can reach, The spaceless plain of waiting sea And hush of glad expectancy, Breathed from the gray, cool, sunless light That weds the day with darkest night. While out where ocean greets the sky, A range of purple cloud-peaks lie, That circle round the silent sea And hide the glorious mystery Of God's great secrets which the day May bring to us, or bear away. Then palest rose tints up the crest Of some peaks more than all the rest, And soon a single line of gold Comes tracing them in etchings bold, Till, lo; the ramparts disappear, God's sun of righteousness is here. Men's little ships sail out to sea And from the depths, call back to me, Who find in this day newly born A glimpse of earth's creation morn. |