XXVII.

Sing on, wide winds, your anthems vast The ear is richer than the eye: Upon the eye no shape can cast Such impress of Infinity.

And thou, my soul, thy wings of might Put forth:—thou too, one day shalt soar, And, onward borne in heavenward flight, The starry universe explore;

Breasting that breeze which waves the bowers Of Heaven's bright forest never mute, Whereof perchance this earth of ours Is but the feeblest forest-fruit.

"The Spirit bloweth where He wills"— Effluence of that Life Divine Which wakes the Universe, and stills, In Thy strong refluence make us Thine!