I am the cosmic tale You spin
as gently You tuck comets in;
I am the lilting lay You teach
to fledglings in their downy perch.
And O, Thou immortal poet,
I am Your eternal sonnet.
I am not a tale soon told, grown old,
replaced; I am not a song too slow, too low,
debased; I am not a verse unsaid, unread,
erased.
I am Your poem, Your song, Your story,
the pulsing paean of Your glory.
I am the rhythmic rhyme You make
earth's illusive mounts to shake.
The holy verse of Your design
is my celestial state sublime.
