Classic Poem

O THOU whose finger-tips,
From out the unveiled universe around,
Can touch my human lips
With harmonies beyond the range of sound;

Whose living word,
All vital truth revealing,
My soul hath stirred
To raptures holy, comforting and healing;

Beneath, around, above,
Breathe on me atmospheres
Of universal Love —
The music of the timeless years;

Upon my soul,
Pour vast eternities of might,
Up through my being roll
Deep seas of light
To urge me onward to the Goal,
The Infinite, the Whole.