The poet is the child of God,
Who with anointed eye
Discerns a sacrament of love
In earth and sea and sky,
And finds himself at love's behest
Constrained to prophesy.
Love is of loveliness the root,
Love is of life the spring,
Love is the sole interpreter
Of every lovely thing:
This is the burden of his song,
Well may the poet sing!
A joy-inspirèd song he sings
Because far off he hears
A whisper silencing the storm,
A laughter through the tears,
The music of eternity
Beyond the dying years.
His song is rapture, for he sees
God's loveliness, and we,
When with his insight we are blest,
Shall share his ecstasy;
Oh, come the day when all shall sing
As blithe a song as he!
Lord Christ, Thou art the King of Love,
Thou art the Poet true;
The men who would Thy vision share
Must learn Thy works to do,
All, all shall have the singing heart
Whose feet Thy steps pursue!