The sky was rosing at its edges,
With liquid light thru cracks a-stream,
Fowing down t\'wards from the ledges
Carried by the Summer winds, whispering;
„Man hath, with eyes weary,
T\'wards the sky his gaze affix\'d,
Where gods, so He saith, young
And true, hold their festivities;
Oh, what place of pleasure - and
Joy\'s to be at the table of the Greats;
Oh, to taste anew the sweetest dew,
Imbibe the blood of Heaven\'s grapes!“
These whispers reached far, o\'er seas
And mountain peaks; echoed thru dale
And forest greene, till they dissipated,
At the edge of scarlet darkness into a
Scarlet sea. And so was lost the hymn,
The prayer, to all but the love-full few,
Who hath listened, who hath hear\'d;
Theirs shall be the harvest at the dusk
Of May, theirs the golden tower and the
Diamond cave! Oh, and they shall build
Their dome of pleasure midst that scarlet
Sea, and sing the hymn of light, hymn of
Prosperity! for the light, which from yon
Hath stream\'d, is they; young hearts, pure
Minds, oh, and tireless hands, shall build
Man up, up, up – to Heaven! T\'wards God!