The threads that bind us to the All,

God or the Immensity;

Whereof on the eternal road

Man is but a passing mode.

Too blind we are, too little see

Of the magic pageantry,

Every minute, every hour,

From the cloudflake to the flower,

Forever old, forever strange,

Issuing in perpetual change

From the rainbow gates of Time.

But he who through this common air

Surely knows the great and fair,

What is lovely, what sublime,

Becomes in an increasing span,

One with earth and one with man,

[49]

One, despite these mortal scars,

With the planets and the stars;

And Nature from her holy place,

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