Birthday of Linnaeus

In a temple built by God,
The bright and boundless heaven,—
Its pavement the green sod,
With the woods to wave around,
In a harmony of sound,
To his favorites only given,—
Only given to those ears
Who can catch the chiming spheres,—
Only given to those hearts
Who can feel him in the flowers,
Who with high and holy arts
Know to steal away the hours
From the blank of vulgar men,—
We are spirits only then,
And with voices pure and free
Only then can worship thee,—
Then can only at thy throne,
Thou unseen, invisible One!
At thy throne of earth and air,
In the common gladness share
Of a universe that smiles
Underneath thy quickening ray,
As we see at noon of day,
Through wide groups of palmy isles.
The ocean dance its way.

In that temple, wide as earth,
And unlimited as air,
May the mind who called to birth
A creation none may dare
With a reckless hand profane,—
May he look from out his heaven,
And with smiles, like early rain
Falling on the joyous flowers,
Be among us through these hours,
When we meet to weave a crown
For his sacerdotal brow.
Not to this our spirits bow:
A better light came down
With thy teaching,—thou didst ever
Lead us upward to the Giver.
Like the white-robed priest of old,
In a mantle pure as light,
Thou didst lead us on through night
Into nature's deepest fold,
Till we caught the fire divine
Beaming from the inmost shrine,—
Caught the radiance of that sun,
Where the spirit dwells alone.

'T is a pure and holy rite,
One that loves the blessed light.
With a sacrifice of bloom,
Rich in colors and perfume,
Let the altar now be graced;
And that living breath shall rise
Unburnt incense to the skies.
Be our hearts as free from stain,
Thou, invisible One, shalt smile
Kindly on our rites, the while.
With our dear ones at our side,
We are gathered here again,
In thy fairest month of May,
Our grateful debt to pay
To thy servant, and our guide.
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