With a singing heart for the pride of noon,
And a tender heart for what twilight sees.
Let him be lover of you and yours—
The Child and Mary; but also Pan,
And the sylvan gods of the woods and hills,
And the god that is hid in his fellow-man.
Love and a song and the joy of earth,
These be the gifts for his scrip to keep
Till, the journey ended, he stands at last
In the gathering dark, at the gate of sleep.