"And ye shall be man's counsellors That neither rest nor sleep, To cheer the lonely, lift the frail, And solace them that weep. And ever on his wandering trail Your watch-fires ye shall keep;
"Till in the far years he shall find The country of his quest, The empire of the open truth, The vision of the best, Foreseen by every mother saint With her new-born on her breast."
_First all the host of Raphael In liveries of gold, Lifted the chorus on whose rhythm The spinning spheres are rolled,-- The Seraphs of the morning calm Whose hearts are never cold._
He shall be born a spirit, Part of the soul that yearns, The core of vital gladness That suffers and discerns, The stir that breaks the budding sheath When the green spring returns,--
The gist of power and patience Hid in the plasmic clay, The calm behind the senses, The passionate essay To make his wise and lovely dream Immortal on a day.
The soft, Aprilian ardors That warm the waiting loam Shall whisper in his pulses To bid him overcome, And he shall learn the wonder-cry Beneath the azure dome.
And though all-dying nature Should teach him to deplore, The ruddy fires of autumn Shall lure him but the more To pass from joy to stronger joy, As through an open door.
He shall have hope and honor, Proud trust and courage stark, To hold him to his purpose Through the unlighted dark, And love that sees the moon's full orb In the first silver arc.
And he shall live by kindness And the heart's certitude, Which moves without misgiving In ways not understood, Sure only of the vast event,-- The large and simple good.
_Then Gabriel's host in silver gear And vesture twilight blue, The spirits of immortal mind, The warders of the true, Took up the theme that gives the world Significance anew._
He shall be born to reason, And have the primal need To understand and follow Wherever truth may lead,-- To grow in wisdom like a tree Unfolding from a seed.
A watcher by the sheepfolds, With wonder in his eyes, He shall behold the seasons, And mark the planets rise, Till all the marching firmament Shall rouse his vast surmise.
Beyond the sweep of vision, Or utmost reach of sound, This cunning fire-maker, This tiller of the ground, Shall learn the secrets of the suns And fathom the profound.