Whate'er we leave to God, God does,
⁠And blesses us;
The work we choose should be our own,
⁠God leaves alone.
 

 
If with light head erect I sing,
⁠Though all the Muses lend their force,
From my poor love of anything,
⁠The verse is weak and shallow as its source.

But if with bended neck I grope
⁠Listening behind me for my wit,
With faith superior to hope,
⁠More anxious to keep back than forward it;

 
Making my soul accomplice there
⁠Unto the flame my heart hath lit,
Then will the verse for ever wear—
⁠Time cannot bend the line which God hath writ.

Always the general show of things
⁠Floats in review before my mind,
And such true love and reverence brings,
⁠That sometimes I forget that I am blind.

But now there comes unsought, unseen,
⁠Some clear divine electuary,
And I, who had but sensual been,
⁠Grow sensible, and as God is, am wary.

I hearing get, who had but ears,
⁠And sight, who had but eyes before,
I moments live, who lived but years,
⁠And truth discern, who knew but learning's lore.

I hear beyond the range of sound,
⁠I see beyond the range of sight,
New earths and skies and seas around,
⁠And in my day the sun doth pale his light.

A clear and ancient harmony
⁠Pierces my soul through all its din,
As through its utmost melody,—
⁠Farther behind than they, farther within.

More swift its bolt than lightning is,
⁠Its voice than thunder is more loud,
It doth expand my privacies
⁠To all, and leave me single in the crowd.

 
It speaks with such authority,
⁠With so serene and lofty tone,
That idle Time runs gadding by,
⁠And leaves me with Eternity alone.

Now chiefly is my natal hour,
⁠And only now my prime of life,
Of manhood's strength it is the flower,
⁠'Tis peace's end and war's beginning strife.

It comes in summer's broadest noon,
⁠By a grey wall or some chance place,
Unseasoning Time, insulting June,
⁠And vexing day with its presuming face.

Such fragrance round my couch it makes,
⁠More rich than are Arabian drugs,
That my soul scents its life and wakes
⁠The body up beneath its perfumed rugs.

Such is the Muse, the heavenly maid,
⁠The star that guides our mortal course,
Which shows where life's true kernel 's laid,
⁠Its wheat's fine flour, and its undying force.

She with one breath attunes the spheres,
⁠And also my poor human heart,
With one impulse propels the years
⁠Around, and gives my throbbing pulse its start.

I will not doubt for evermore,
⁠Nor falter from a steadfast faith,
For though the system be turned o'er,
⁠God takes not back the word which once he saith.

I will not doubt the love untold
⁠Which not my worth nor want has bought,
Which wooed me young, and wooes me old,
⁠And to this evening hath me brought.

My memory I'll educate
⁠To know the one historic truth,
Remembering to the latest date
⁠The only true and sole immortal youth.

Be but thy inspiration given,
⁠No matter through what danger sought,
I'll fathom hell or climb to heaven,
⁠And yet esteem that cheap which love has bought.
 

 
Fame cannot tempt the bard
⁠Who's famous with his God,
Nor laurel him reward
⁠Who has his Maker's nod.