In battle to destroy the souls
God grew in His great garden, when
He won past all His other goals—
Triumphant at the birth of men!
Who can behold the dance of Dawn—
Juggling with stars like tinselled balls,
Vestured in mantle of a wan,
White glory whose dim splendour falls
Upon the mountains; and not feel
Himself transcendant? Who can hear
Clangour of wild birds and the peal
Of matin-bells across the clear,
Blue sky, commingling with the shout
Of children on their way to school,
And fail at once to be about
God's business?—As within a pool
You are reflected, Nature shows
The miracle of what you are—
The highest that Creation knows:
Lord of the earth and every star!
I am a priest upon whose head
God long ago poured holy oil;
He gave to me a Word and said:
"With this thou shalt mankind assoil!"
I come from out the Holy Place
With benediction for the earth,
To wipe the tears from every face
And tell the fallen one his worth.
My business is to be a priest
Whose holy task is to forgive,
To bid the beggar to the feast,
To touch the dead and make them live.
I know not any fear of thrones,
No claim of Scribe and Pharisee;
My word is set to many tones
Of lute and harp and psaltery.
I have no temple and no creed,
I celebrate no mystic rite;
The human heart is all I need
Wherein I worship day and night: