The Hymn

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!