All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.
And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well; And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.
He Who is wrapped in purple robes, With planets in His care, Had pity on the least of things Asleep upon a chair.
Thought is a garment and the soul's a bride That cannot in that trash and tinsel hide: Hatred of God may bring the soul to God.
The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.
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