Classic Poem

In middle heaven a form behold;
Fair-aureoled
Her shapely brow with noon-bright gold;
Soli Deo Gloria!

Upon a little cloud she stands,
Within her hands
A tympanum with scarlet bands;
Soli Deo Gloria!

Thereon she playeth without fault,
While up the vault
Her voice makes silvery assault, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

Till, blended with her soaring notes,
Adown there floats
An echo from a myriad throats, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

An angel she of God's own choir,
Whose one desire
Is higher yet to chant, and higher, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

And every year, upon the morn
When Christ was born
Within the manger-bed forlorn, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

'Tis hers to bid song's raptures run
From sun to sun,
And list to earth's low antiphon, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

Would that our praise might swell and rise
Along the skies,
And scale the gates of Paradise, —
Soli Deo Gloria!

Bearing, with more complete accord,
Unto the Lord, —
Forevermore our watch and ward, —
Soli Deo Gloria!