~The Chantry of the Cherubim~

O CHANTRY of the Cherubim, Down-looking on the stream! Beneath thy boughs the day grows dim; Through windows comes the gleam; A thousand raptures fill the air, Beyond delight, beyond despair.

I will not name one flower that clings In cluster at my feet! I will not hail one bird that sings Its anthem loud or sweet! This is the floor of Heaven, and these The angels that God's ear do please.

I walk as one unclothed of flesh, I wash my spirit clean; I see old miracles afresh, And wonders yet unseen. I will not leave Thee till Thou give Some word whereby my soul may live!

I listened-but no voice I heard; I looked-no likeness saw; Slowly the joy of flower and bird Did like a tide withdraw; And in the heaven a silent star Smiled on me, infinitely far.

I buoyed me on the wings of dream, Above the world of sense; I set my thought to sound the scheme, And fathom the Immense; I tuned my spirit as a lute To catch wind-music wandering mute.

Yet came there never voice nor sign; But through my being stole Sense of a Universe divine, And knowledge of a soul Perfected in the joy of things, The star, the flower, the bird that sings.

Nor I am more, nor less, than these; All are one brotherhood; I and all creatures, plants, and trees, The living limbs of God; And in an hour, as this, divine, I feel the vast pulse throb in mine.

By Francis William Bourdillon (b. 1852)