Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.
Sir Lewis Morris (18331907)155. A Heathen Hymn
O
My heart is ready, my heart is ready;
I dare not hold my peace, nor pause,
For I am fain to sing Thy praise.
For that Thy partial hand has given
Bounties of wealth or form or brain,
Good gifts to other men denied.
For fancied goods Thy hand withholds;
I know not what to fear or hope,
Nor aught but that Thy will is best.
Nor wherefore I am here, I know;
Nor if my life’s tale ends on earth,
Or mounts to bliss, or sinks to woe.
Behind the veil Thy face is hidden:
We faint, and yet Thy face is hidden;
We cry,—Thou answerest not a word.
And by Thee I too live and am;
We stand together, face to face,
Thou the great whole, and I the part.
Alone amidst Thy waste of worlds;
Unchanged, though all creation fade,
And Thy swift suns forget to roll.
Because, without Thee I were not;
Because, as doth the sea, the sun,
My nature gives back the Divine.
Sets to Thee as the brook to the sea;
Turns to Thee, as the flower to the sun,
And seeks what it may never know.
For ever, seated midst Thy suns;
Marking the soulless cycles turn,
Yet wert Thyself unknown, unseen.
In life and death, in heaven and hell:
What care I, since indeed Thou art,
And I the creature of Thy word.
When all Thy infinite will is done,
Take back the soul Thy breath has given,
And let me lose myself in Thee.