The Chantry Of The Cherubim

O CHANTRY of the Cherubim,  
 Down-looking on the stream!  
Beneath thy boughs the day grows dim;  
 Through windows comes the gleam;  
A thousand raptures fill the air,  
Beyond delight, beyond despair.  
 
I will not name one flower that clings  
 In cluster at my feet!  
I will not hail one bird that sings  
 Its anthem loud or sweet!  
This is the floor of Heaven, and these  
The angels that God’s ear do please.  
 
I walk as one unclothed of flesh,  
 I wash my spirit clean;  
I see old miracles afresh,  
 And wonders yet unseen.  
I will not leave Thee till Thou give  
Some word whereby my soul may live!  
 
I listened—but no voice I heard;  
 I looked—no likeness saw;  
Slowly the joy of flower and bird  
 Did like a tide withdraw;  
And in the heaven a silent star  
Smiled on me, infinitely far.  
 
I buoyed me on the wings of dream,  
 Above the world of sense;  
I set my thought to sound the scheme,  
 And fathom the Immense;  
I tuned my spirit as a lute  
To catch wind-music wandering mute.  
 
Yet came there never voice nor sign;  
 But through my being stole  
Sense of a Universe divine,  
 And knowledge of a soul  
Perfected in the joy of things,  
The star, the flower, the bird that sings.  
 
Nor I am more, nor less, than these;  
 All are one brotherhood;  
I and all creatures, plants, and trees,  
 The living limbs of God;  
And in an hour, as this, divine,  
I feel the vast pulse throb in mine.