From this time forward thou shalt not believe That thou art earthly, or that aught of earth, Or aught that hell can threaten, shall receive Power on the children of the second birth.
O risen out of death into the day Of an immortal life, we bid thee hail, And will not kiss the waterdrops away, The dew that rests upon thy forehead pale.
And if the seed of better life lie long, As in a wintry hiddenness and death, Then calling back this day, we will be strong To wait in hope for heaven’s reviving breath;
To water, if there should be such sad need, The undiscernèd germ with sorrowing tears, To wait until from that undying seed Out of the earth a heavenly plant appears;
The growth and produce of a fairer land, And thence transplanted to a barren soil, It needs the tendance of a careful hand, Of love, that is not weary with long toil.
And thou, dear child, whose very helplessness Is as a bond upon us and a claim, Mayest thou have this of us, as we no less Have daily from our Father known the same.
How like a swan, cleaving the azure sky, The voice upsoars of thy triumphant song, That whirled awhile resistlessly along By the great sweep of threatening harmony, Seemed, overmatched, to struggle helplessly With that impetuous music, yet ere long Escaping from the current fierce and strong, Pierces the clear crystàlline vault on high. And I too am upborne with thee together In circles ever narrowing, round and round, Over the clouds and sunshine--who erewhile, Like a blest bird of charmèd summer-weather In the blue shadow of some foamless isle, Was floating on the billows of sweet sound.
When the mute voice returns from whence it came, The silence of a momentary awe, A brief submission to the eternal law Of beauty doth to every heart proclaim A Spirit has been summoned; yea, the same Whose dwelling is the inmost human heart, Which will not from that home and haunt depart, Which nothing can quite vanquish or make tame. It is the noblest gift beneath the moon, The power, this awful presence to compel Out of the lurking places where it lies Deep-hidden and removed from human eyes: Oh! reverence thou in fear and cherish well This privilege of few, this rarest boon.
Look! for a season (ah, too brief a space), While yet the spell is strong upon the rout, With something of still fear all move about, As though a breath or motion might displace The Spirit, which had come of heavenly grace Among them, for a moment to redeem Their thoughts and passions from the selfish dream Of earthly life, and its inglorious race. If we might keep this awe upon us still, If we might walk for ever in the power And in the shadow of the mystery, Which has been spread around us at this hour, This might suffice to guard us from much ill, This might go far to keep us pure and free.