POETRY.
THE CHANTRY OF THE CHERUBIM.
0 CHANTRY of the Cherubim,
Down-looking on the stream !
Beneath thy boughs the day grows dim; Through windows comes the gleam; A thousand raptures fill the air, Beyond delight, beyond despair.
I will not name one flower that clings In cluster at my feet !
I will not hail one bird that sings Its anthem loud or sweet !
This is the floor of Heaven, and these The angels that God's ear do please.
I walk as one unclothed of flesh, I wash my spirit clean ; I see old miracles afresh, And wonders yet unseen.
I will not leave Thee till Thou give Some word whereby my soul may live!
I listened—but no voice I heard; I looked—no likeness saw ; Slowly the joy of flower and bird Did like a tide withdraw; And in the heaven a silent star Smiled on me, infinitely far.
I buoyed me on the wings of dream, Above the world of sense; I set my thought to sound the scheme, And fathom the Immense; I tuned my spirit as a lute To catch wind-music wandering mute.
Yet came there never voice nor sign; But through my being stole Sense of a Universe divine, And knowledge of a soul Perfected in the joy of things, The star, the flower, the bird that sings.
Nor I am more, nor less, than these, All are one brotherhood ; I and allcreatures, plants, and trees, The living limbs of God; And in an hour, as this, divine, I feel the vast pulse throb in mine.
F. W. BOURDILLON.
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