Hark ! What spirit doth entreat

Hark! What spirit doth entreat

The love-obedient air?

All the pomp of his delight

Revels on the ravisht night,

Wandering wilful, soaring fair:

There! Tis there, 'tis there.

Like a flower of primal fire

Late redeem'd by man's desire.

Away, on wings away

My spirit far hath flown,

To a land of love and peace,

Of beauty unknown.

The world that earth-born man,

By evil undismay'd,

Out of the breath of God

Hath for his heaven made.

Where all his dreams soe'er

Of holy things and fair

In splendour are upgrown,

Which thro' the toilsome years

Martyrs and faithful seers

And poets with holy tears

Of hope have sown.

There, beyond power of ill,

In joy and blessing crown'd,

Christ with His lamp of truth

Sitteth upon the hill

Of everlasting youth,

And calls His saints around.