From hence­forth no more twain but one,
Yet ev­er one through be­ing twain,
As self is ev­er lost and won,
Through love’s own cease­less loss and gain—
And both their full per­fect­ion reach.
Each grow­ing the true self through each.

Two in all wor­ship glad and high,
All pro­mis­es to praise and pray­er,
Where two are ga­thered, there am I,
Gone half the weight from all ye bear,
Gained twice the force for all ye do,
The sac­red, cease­less Church of two.

One in all low­ly min­is­try,
One in all priest­ly sac­ri­fice,
Through love which makes all ser­vice free,
And finds or makes all gifts of price;
All love that made life rich be­fore,
Through this great cen­tral love grown more.

And so to­ge­ther jour­ney­ing on
To the Great Brid­al of the Christ,
When all the life His love has won
To per­fect love is sa­cri­ficed,
And the New Song, be­yond the sun,
Peals, Hence­forth no more twain but one.

Thy types are no more pic­tured forms;
The sun which wit­ness­es of Thee,
A world it­self, gives life and warms,
Is what it fig­ures Thee to be;
No life­less glass Thy mir­rors are—
The liv­ing stream, the lu­mi­nous star.

Thou liv­est in Thy sac­ra­ments,
And thus—through them we live in Thee;
Each what it pic­tures still pre­sents,
And this great mar­riage-mys­te­ry,
This sac­red one of man and wife,
Brings Christ the Life into our life.