All white below, and brightly blue above!
A fitting temple for Eternal Love,
December's World of snow and sky! art thou.
The groinings of his roof no stone require;
The spangles of its dome are worlds of fire;
Its pillars are the Everlasting Now.
Thron'd on his deeds, He reigns—by all beheld,
By all obey'd; soul-felt, and soul-ador'd,
And soul-proclaim'd; of Life and Death the Lord!
I kneel to him in reverence, not in fear;
And on his forehead, easy to be spell'd,
Read his great precept, “Let the soul be free.”
Oh, God of Works! why should I worship here
A god of words, when I can worship thee?