V

Hark! What spirit doth entreat The love-obedient air? All the pomp of his delight Revels on the ravisht night, Wandering wilful, soaring fair: There! 'Tis there, 'tis there. Like a flower of primal fire Late redeem'd by man's desire.

Away, on wings away My spirit far hath flown, To a land of love and peace, Of beauty unknown. The world that earth-born man, By evil undismay'd, Out of the breath of God Hath for his heaven made.

Where all his dreams soe'er Of holy things and fair In splendour are upgrown, Which thro' the toilsome years Martyrs and faithful seers And poets with holy tears Of hope have sown.

There, beyond power of ill, In joy and blessing crown'd, Christ with His lamp of truth Sitteth upon the hill Of everlasting youth, And calls His saints around.