We praise not star or sun; in these we see
Thee, Father, only Thee!
Thy gifts are beauty, wisdom, power, and love:
We read, we reverence on this human soul,—
Earth’s clearest mirror of the light above,—
Plain as the record on Thy prophet’s scroll,
When o’er his page the effluent splendours poured,
Thine own, “Thus saith the Lord!”
This player was a prophet from on high,
Thine own elected. Statesman, poet, sage,