SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. Come sister spirits, touch his eyelids newly, With that rare juice whose magic power it is, To give the rose-hue to those things which truly Wear the sad livery of ugliness. Oh, dignify the office of the meanest Of all God's manifold created things; And sprinkle his heart's wounds with the serenest Waters of sweetness, from our fabled springs. Oh, close him round with visions of all rareness, Make him see everything with smiling eye; Let all his dreams be unsurpassed for fairness, And what we feign out-charm reality. Come, sister spirits, up and do your duty; When the Poet pines, feast his soul with beauty. SPIRIT OF THE TREES. Let us wave our branches gently With a murmur low and loving; He will say we sang him quaintly Some old ballad, sweetly moving. 'Tis of all the ways the surest To awake a poet's fancies, For he loves these things the purest-- Sigh of leaves, and scent of pansies. He has loved us, we will love him, And will cheer his hour of sadness, Spirits, wave your boughs above him To a measure of soft gladness. SPIRIT OF LOVE. Ye gentle ministers, ye have done well, But 'tis for love that most the poet pineth, And till I spell him with my magic spell, In vain for him earth smiles or heaven shineth. Behold I touch his heart, and there upspring Blooms to his cheeks, and flashes to his eyes; His scornful lips upon the instant sing, And all his pulses leap with ecstasies. 'Tis love the poet wants; he cannot live Without caressing and without caress, Which all to charity his fellows give; But I will wrap his soul in tenderness, And straightway from his lips will burst a song All loving hearts shall echo and prolong. POET. O Earth, and Sky, and Flowers, and Streams agushing, God made ye beautiful to make us blest: O bright-winged Songsters through the blue air rushing; O murmuring Tree-tops, by the winds carest; O Waves of Ocean, Ripples of the River, O Dew and Fragrance, Sunlight, and Starbeam, O blessed summer-sounds that round me quiver, Delights impassable that round me teem-- Oh all things beautiful! God made ye so That the glad hearts of men might overflow! O Soul within me, whose wings sweep a lyre-- God gave thee song that thou might'st give him praise; O Heart that glows with the Promethean fire, O Spirit whose fine chords some influence plays: O all sweet thoughts and beautiful emotions, O smiles and tears, and trembling and delight, Have ye not all part in the soul's devotions, To help it swell its anthem's happy height? Spirit of Love, of God, of inspiration, The poet's glad heart bursts in acclamation! CHORUS OF SPIRITS.