Make purer, deeper, my quiet heart, O Lord,

To know the whole of Life's significance:

This interplay of Time and Circumstance

Is Thy Eternity's quick sounding-board

To human souls, whose folded depths afford

Not only Joy's pure-passioned utterance

Of music swooning to a perfect trance,

But even the sobs of Grief, by Love implored . . .

From the quiescent cithar of my Faith,

If the weak notes I yield unto Thy stress

Merge singing flowers in moan of falling leaves,

The ultimate glory in all hideousness

Shall sister Beauty: and even changing Death

Gleam with the gold of Thy love-garnered sheaves.