And yet so strangely near to jar,
As jars too strong a light.

She sang a song. She warbled low,
She did not sing in words;
I felt it in my spirit glow,
And knew it, as with joy I know
The morning shouts of birds.

But hard the task I undertake,
With mortal tongue to reach
The utterance of my Love, and make
Her high immortal meaning break
To clearness through my speech!

I can no more, with glimmering trope
That into darkness runs,
Reveal its depth, than they could hope,
Who on in lifelong blindness grope,
To sing of rising suns.

"Or e'er that life my King had lent
Was lifted into rest,
His message through my lips He sent,
And on thy path His glory went
To guide thee to the blessed.

"But thou didst turn thy face, and scorn
His grace divine as nought;
And set thy gaze to earth forlorn,