Our ears thou openedst; mad'st our eyes to see. All they who work in stone or colour fair, Or build up temples of the quarried air, Which we call music, scholars are of thee. Henceforth in might of such, the earth shall be Truth's temple-theatre, where she shall wear All forms of revelation, all men bear Tapers in acolyte humility. O master-maker, thy exultant art Goes forth in making makers! Pictures? No, But painters, who in love and truth shall show Glad secrets from thy God's rejoicing heart. Sudden, green grass and waving corn up start When through dead sands thy living waters go.