219. The Chantry of the Cherubim

O CHANTRY of the Cherubim,

Down-looking on the stream!

Beneath thy boughs the day grows dim;

Through windows comes the gleam;

A thousand raptures fill the air,

Beyond delight, beyond despair.

I will not name one flower that clings

In cluster at my feet!

I will not hail one bird that sings

Its anthem loud or sweet!

This is the floor of Heaven, and these

The angels that God’s ear do please.

I walk as one unclothed of flesh,

I wash my spirit clean;

I see old miracles afresh,

And wonders yet unseen.

I will not leave Thee till Thou give

Some word whereby my soul may live!

I listened—but no voice I heard;

I looked—no likeness saw;

Slowly the joy of flower and bird

Did like a tide withdraw;

And in the heaven a silent star

Smiled on me, infinitely far.

I buoyed me on the wings of dream,

Above the world of sense;

I set my thought to sound the scheme,

And fathom the Immense;

I tuned my spirit as a lute

To catch wind-music wandering mute.

Yet came there never voice nor sign;

But through my being stole

Sense of a Universe divine,

And knowledge of a soul

Perfected in the joy of things,

The star, the flower, the bird that sings.

Nor I am more, nor less, than these;

All are one brotherhood;

I and all creatures, plants, and trees,

The living limbs of God;

And in an hour, as this, divine,

I feel the vast pulse throb in mine.