O fair white sisters of the field and fell, With your sweet-honey lips thus laid on mine, In world-forgetfulness I fain would tell Of Him, my Father-Mother God and thine, And breathe the while a word of praise and prayer divine Have you. as I, a consciousness of Him Who is the center and circumference Of earth and heaven? and is He clear or dim To your white lids of sainted innocence, Who is our Soul and source, creator and defence? Each flower a secret hath, beyond the ken Of earth's philosophers; the gifts of God Are multifold, and have their origin Beyond the cloistered darkness of the sod In Wisdom's secret cell by mortal feet untrod.
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