Pantheos

The stars of heaven harmonious roll
In spirals to their infinite goal, 
And all the jar of finite wrong 
Is 'whelmed in their melodious song.

The everlasting soul of things, 
God, moves in being's primal springs, 
And, be the cycle brief or broad, 
Center, circumference, all, is God.

We are his offspring, every one;
His love is round his lowest son;
His name is Love, his sign the Dove, 
And lives no wrath nor fear in love.

Blossom and dawn-light are his smile,
Rippling the fluid world awhile;
For the rock flows, breathed on by God, 
And waves in flowers and grassy sod!

The agues of our tiny globe
Are but the rustling of his robe, 
Far-sweeping to the utmost spheres, 
Perfecting all through endless years.

And they who go by storm and fire 
Go not from God, but still aspire;
And they who people earth renewed
Are, earth-like, riper and less rude.

It little boots the advancing soul
If one-by-one we reach our goal;
Or thronged battalions crowd the gate
That opens to our new estate.

How pass our earthly lives away, 
By lightning-flash or slow decay, 
It matters not; the journey past, 
One home awaits us all at last.

As rock and rill, or swift or slow, 
In vapors climb, in ripples flow, 
So saint and sinner, one in soul, 
Find, soon or late, a common goal;

And God, the Father; man, the Son;
And life, the Spirit-three in one, 
Make heaven the infinite everywhere, 
And God the all in all things there!