If thou know not, O thou fairest among women, If thou see not where the signs of him abide, Lift thine eyes up to the light that stars grow dim in, To the morning whence he comes to take thy side. None but he can bear the light that love wraps him in, When he comes on earth to take himself a bride. ANTISTROPHE 5 Light of light, name of names, Whose shadows are live flames, The soul that moves the wings of worlds upon their way; Life, spirit, blood and breath In time and change and death Substant through strength and weakness, ardour and decay; Lord of the lives of lands, Spirit of man, whose hands Weave the web through wherein man's centuries fall as prey; That art within our will Power to make, save, and kill, Knowledge and choice, to take extremities and weigh; In the soul's hand to smite Strength, in the soul's eye sight; That to the soul art even as is the soul to clay; Now to this people be Love; come, to set them free, With feet that tread the night, with eyes that sound the day. ANTISTROPHE 6 Thou that wast on their fathers dead As effluent God effused and shed, Heaven to be handled, hope made flesh, Break for them now time's iron mesh; Give them thyself for hand and head, Thy breath for life, thy love for bread, Thy thought for spirit to refresh, Thy bitterness to pierce and sting, Thy sweetness for a healing spring. Be to them knowledge, strength, life, light, Thou to whose feet the centuries cling And in the wide warmth of thy wing Seek room and rest as birds by night, O thou the kingless people's king, To whom the lips of silence sing, Called by thy name of thanksgiving Freedom, and by thy name of might Justice, and by thy secret name Love; the same need is on the same Men, be the same God in their sight! From this their hour of bloody tears Their praise goes up into thine ears, Their bruised lips clothe thy name with praises, The song of thee their crushed voice raises, Their grief seeks joy for psalms to borrow, With tired feet seeks her through time's mazes Where each day's blood leaves pale the morrow, And from their eyes in thine there gazes A spirit other far than sorrow-- A soul triumphal, white and whole And single, that salutes thy soul. EPODE