_Qui Laborat, Orat._

O only Source of all our light and life, Whom as our truth, our strength, we see and feel, But whom the hours of mortal moral strife Alone aright reveal!

Mine inmost soul, before Thee inly brought, Thy presence owns ineffable, divine; Chastised each rebel self-encentered thought, My will adoreth Thine.

With eye down-dropt, if then this earthly mind Speechless remain, or speechless e’en depart; Nor seek to see—for what of earthly kind Can see Thee as Thou art?—

If well-assured ’tis but profanely bold In thought’s abstractest forms to seem to see, It dare not dare the dread communion hold In ways unworthy Thee,

O not unowned, thou shalt unnamed forgive, In worldly walks the prayerless heart prepare; And if in work its life it seem to live, Shalt make that work be prayer.

Nor times shall lack, when while the work it plies, Unsummoned powers the blinding film shall part, And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyes In recognition start.

But, as thou willest, give or e’en forbear The beatific supersensual sight, So, with Thy blessing blest, that humbler prayer Approach Thee morn and night.

ὕμνος ἄυμνος.

O Thou whose image in the shrine Of human spirits dwells divine; Which from that precinct once conveyed, To be to outer day displayed, Doth vanish, part, and leave behind Mere blank and void of empty mind, Which wilful fancy seeks in vain With casual shapes to fill again!

O Thou that in our bosom’s shrine Dost dwell, unknown because divine! I thought to speak, I thought to say, ‘The light is here,’ ‘behold the way,’ ‘The voice was thus,’ and ‘thus the word,’ And ‘thus I saw,’ and ‘that I heard,’— But from the lips that half essayed The imperfect utterance fell unmade.

O Thou, in that mysterious shrine Enthroned, as I must say, divine! I will not frame one thought of what Thou mayest either be or not. I will not prate of ‘thus’ and ‘so,’ And be profane with ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ Enough that in our soul and heart Thou, whatsoe’er Thou may’st be, art.

Unseen, secure in that high shrine Acknowledged present and divine, I will not ask some upper air, Some future day to place Thee there; Nor say, nor yet deny, such men And women saw Thee thus and then: Thy name was such, and there or here To him or her Thou didst appear.

Do only Thou in that dim shrine, Unknown or known, remain, divine; There, or if not, at least in eyes That scan the fact that round them lies, The hand to sway, the judgment guide, In sight and sense Thyself divide: Be Thou but there,—in soul and heart, I will not ask to feel Thou art.