If mighty angels fair and tall...

If mighty angels fair and tall . . . . . . . . . . . Each robed as priestly seneschal, On altar-suns burn incense daily, As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call,

Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose, Abloom from dawn to day's bright close. The mighty angel stoops above it With pulsing wings, as it golden glows,

To fan the incense-waves through space. When buds the light or folds its grace, He lifts erect his glorious stature, Kindling the sky from his ruddy face.