Challenge, as the waves the shore, Whoso limits what we pour, Protestant of any strain Other than old minstrels know; Follow where the spume flakes blow Down the world and back again. We will run the glad earth round, Splinter with a lance of sound Cliffs that front the swelling tide; Till the mute soul is set free Unto love and liberty, Unafraid and satisfied. We will let the fancy run, Climb into the setting sun-- Leap from it upon the moon-- Laugh at all the broken bars Down betwixt us and the stars, Vainly builded by the noon. Play, my Comrade, through the trees Luting ancient litanies; Laugh with every fronded fern; Sit with daisies in the grass; Let the river hold a glass To your eyes, and look and learn. Gaily go upon all roads, Not like cattle pricked with goads; For the towered town To-Morrow-- Walled with pearl and chrysolite-- Lies beyond the tarn of Night, Past the broken bridge of Sorrow. AFTER THE ORDER OF MELCHISEDEC I am a priest upon whose head God long ago poured holy oil; He gave to me a Word and said: "With this thou shalt mankind assoil!" Since I went forth God to obey, Life has revealed me many things-- I find it very hard to say What is most dear: The task that brings Bread to the eater, or the rest That follows toil; the love of friends, Of books, of song,--each is most blessed And always with contentment blends. A stone, a faggot or a flower; A bird in rapture of its flight; December-snow or April-shower; The velvet vastness of the night, When Mother Moon has left the stars And with the winds gone gossiping-- Or leans upon the gate that bars Dawn from untimely entering. These hold for me unending charm, Fill me with wonderment and awe That men should ever think of harm, Fencing their lives about with law. The world is such a lovely place-- A jewelled pendant on Love's chain! I marvel that a human face Should pale with anger or with pain. I marvel at the cry for bread That thunders round the waking world; The tumult of the legion's tread That shakes the earth, as souls are hurled In battle to destroy the souls God grew in His great garden, when He won past all His other goals-- Triumphant at the birth of men! Who can behold the dance of Dawn-- Juggling with stars like tinselled balls, Vestured in mantle of a wan, White glory whose dim splendour falls Upon the mountains; and not feel Himself transcendant? Who can hear Clangour of wild birds and the peal Of matin-bells across the clear, Blue sky, commingling with the shout Of children on their way to school, And fail at once to be about God's business?--As within a pool You are reflected, Nature shows The miracle of what you are-- The highest that Creation knows: Lord of the earth and every star!