| ALL sights and sounds of day and year, | |
| All groups and forms, each leaf and gem, | |
| Are thine, O God, nor will I fear | |
| To talk to Thee of them. | |
| |
| Too great Thy heart is to despise, | 5 |
| Whose day girds centuries about; | |
| From things which we name small, Thine eyes | |
| See great things looking out. | |
| |
| Therefore the prayerful song I sing | |
| May come to Thee in ordered words: | 10 |
| Though lowly born, it needs not cling | |
| In terror to its chords. | |
| |
| I think that nothing made is lost; | |
| That not a moon has ever shone, | |
| That not a cloud my eyes hath crossed | 15 |
| But to my soul is gone. | |
| |
| That all the lost years garnered lie | |
| In this Thy casket, my dim soul; | |
| And Thou wilt, once, the key apply, | |
| And show the shining whole. | 20 |
| |
| But were they dead in me, they live | |
| In Thee, Whose Parable is—Time, | |
| And Worlds, and Forms—all things that give | |
| Me thoughts, and this my rime. | |
| |
| Father, in joy our knees we bow: | 25 |
| This earth is not a place of tombs: | |
| We are but in the nursery now; | |
| They in the upper rooms. | |
| |
| For are we not at home in Thee, | |
| And all this world a visioned show; | 30 |
| That, knowing what Abroad is, we | |
| What Home is too may know? | |
