There in the hush of the dayspring Breathing of dew-sprinkled lilies White as the snow upon Hermon, We knew that our Love was immortal! Out of the wildness We had grown us a rose-- Out of its thorns We had fashioned a crown! TE DEUM Praise God for all things: Praise Him for birth, Praise Him for death, Praise Him for health, Praise Him for sickness; For sorrow and sin, For gladness and gain, For failure and loss, For friend and for foe-- Praise God for all things! God is the All, So all must be praised And welcomed and trusted As angels from Him: Angels of light, Angels of darkness Angels of joy, Angels of woe-- Each as a messenger Swift from His throne. "Nothing can hurt you!" Sings little Brother; For each in its place Serves but one end, Namely, to shape you-- Fit you--complete you: Till from the terror And from the thunder Grow through the gloom Gleams of your Godhood! Laugh at the voices, Wailing in valleys Like to Gehinnom-- Lurid with fires Fed by the bodies Of dead men forgotten! Rise up and claim All things as yours, You who are God-- God in Becoming! O WILL YOU COME WITH ME O will you come with me away, Brother--my Brother! The night is spent, and breaks the day, Brother--my Brother! Have done with the dream and the pillowing stone! Awake! Over vast spaces the winds are blown To buffet and bear you from shadowing sleep. Up the high places Seraphim faces Brighten and burn as the disk of the sun Stands on the brow of yon mountain, to keep Guard of your path till the journey is done! THE KING OF GLORY Give us this day a man so strong He will not falter in his song, Muting his instrument to please The backward-glancing Pharisees. He must be one to whom a child Comes with sweet laughter, reconciled From tears because he passes by Like a white cloud in yonder sky. Women shall claim him for a friend, Hail him as brother, gladly spend The price of spikenard for his head, Weep at his tomb when he is dead. From seat of customs or the nets, Workshop or plough or minarets, Men will respond to his clear call And in his battles proudly fall. This Lord must be no shrouded form Of God Incarnate, but the norm Of manhood for an eager age-- Our prophet, poet, teacher, sage. If sin be missing of the mark, Sped was the arrow in the dark: With light shed from that Brother's face, Each well-aimed bolt shall find its place. Not to dead yesterdays, but now Belongs that wide and august brow From whose vast mind a word shall be Spoken to set thought-forces free-- Thought-forces fettered by the ban Of some far-thundering Vatican, Which from the age of stone to this Cramped them by every artifice. He will lift up a mighty hand Against oppression; will demand From kings and councils an account Of stewardship--of the amount