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| WE are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee, | |
| As thóu, Lóve, were, the déep thought | |
| And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we, | |
| Thy fires of thought out-spoken: | |
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| But burn’d not through us thy imagining | 5 |
| Like fiérce móod in a sóng cáught, | |
| We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling, | |
| Loose words, of meaning broken. | |
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| For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,— | |
| The lives travelling dark fears, | 10 |
| And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool | |
| Thrown down abysmal places? | |
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| Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth | |
| And our journeying time theirs; | |
| As words of air, life makes of starry earth | 15 |
| Sweet soul-delighted faces; | |
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| As voices are we in the worldly wind; | |
| The great wind of the world’s fate | |
| Is turned, as air to a shapen sound, to mind | |
| And marvellous desires. | 20 |
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| But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d, | |
| Not borne down by the wind’s weight; | |
| The rushing time rings with our splendid word | |
| Like darkness fill’d with fires. | |
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| For Love doth use us for a sound of song, | 25 |
| And Love’s meaning our life wields, | |
| Making our souls like syllables to throng | |
| His tunes of exultation. | |
| |
| Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly, | |
| As rain blown along earth’s fields; | 30 |
| Yet are we god-desiring liturgy, | |
| Sung joys of adoration; | |
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| Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife, | |
| We go charged with a strong flame; | |
| For as a language Love hath seized on life | 35 |
| His burning heart to story. | |
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| Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee, | |
| Thy thought’s golden and glad name, | |
| The mortal conscience of immortal glee, | |
| Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory. | 40 |
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