Vision can be won
As of morning sun,
Making this dark clay
Radiant as day.

Let thy vision be
Needle-sharp in thee,
Like its lustre pass
Thro’ the heart o’ the glass.

In this garden, where
Hushed is warbler’s air,
As each bursting bud
Chant thy tragic mode.

Earth hides not His grace,
Heav’n veils not His face
Thou may’st view, for sure’,
If thou canst endure.

Childlike watchest thou
Nests beneath the bough;
Mount on wings, and soon
Hunt the sun and moon!