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.
At morn the lamp of Love is in the sky,
At eve the crescent of the lovely moon,
The nightly miracle and mystery
Of stars is painted on the still lagoon:
Yet all as flowers shall fade, O Lord of heaven, how soon!
Consider then the lilies, how they grow,
That toil not, neither do they spin;
And when we touch their lips of love and snow,
Think of their purity and peace within,
Their source of secret sweets, their ignorance of sin.
Wear their white raiment, as the robe of Truth,
Unsoiled, immaculate, and glistering:
Like them, may we renew perennial youth,
Regenerate, at Life's eternal spring;
And, satisfied, arise, to Love's awakening.
