A Hidden Life

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XIV.

All divine artists, humble, filial, Turn therefore unto Thee, the poet's sun; First-born of God's creation, only done When from Thee, centre-form, the veil did fall, And Thou, symbol of all, heart, coronal, The highest Life with noblest Form made one, To do thy Father's bidding hadst begun; The living germ in this strange planet-ball, Even as thy form in mind of striving saint. So, as the one Ideal, beyond taint, Thy radiance unto all some shade doth yield, In every splendour shadowy revealed: But when, by word or hand, Thee one would paint, Power falls down straightway, speechless, dim-eyed, faint.



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