Lift up thy­self, my soul,
Above this world’s con­trol!
Spend and be spent in ho­ly hymns of praise:
Be armed with pure de­sire,
Burn with ce­les­ti­al fire;
Unto the King of gods our voice we raise:
To Him a crown we weave, and bring
A sac­ri­fice of words, a blood­less of­fer­ing.

Thee on the trou­bled deep,
Thee o’er the is­lands steep,
Thee through the migh­ty con­ti­nents of land,
Thee in the ci­ty’s throng,
Or mount­ain tops along,
Or when in ce­le­brat­ed plains I stand,
Thee, Thee, O bless­èd One, I sing,
Thee, Thee, O Fa­ther
Of the world, eter­nal King!

Thy praise I hymn by night,
Thy praise at morn­ing light,
Thy praise by day, Thy praise at ev­en­tide.
This know the hoa­ry stars,
And moon with sil­ver bars,
And chief­ly He that doth on high pre­side
O’er all the host of Heav’n, the sun
Who mea­sur­ing time
For ho­ly souls his course doth run.

Fain to Thy folds I sped,
And to Thy bo­som fled,
Winging my steps from matter’s wide-spread rule:
Now on famed mount­ain peak
Thy face alone to seek;
Now on the plain I hailed thy ves­ti­bule.
A sup­pli­ant thus to many a shrine
Of sac­red rites I came,
And mys­ter­ies di­vine.

And now to south­ern land,
And Li­bya’s de­sert strand
I roamed, where nei­ther god­less spir­it reigns,
Nor teem­ing ci­ties’ strife
Calls men to bu­sy life;
That so my soul, from woe­ful toils and pains
And pas­sions’ war and groans set free,
And all the ills of fate, might har­mo­nize with Thee.

And might, in blest re­lief,
Unshackled now from grief,
With lips and tongue all cleansed, and hal­lowed mind,
Repay the hymn to Thee,
The hymn full due from me.
Be earth and ether ho­li­ly com­bined
And air and sea with one ac­cord
Be still, and join in ado­ra­tion to the Lord!

Swift breath of winds, be still,
And whirl­ing pool and rill,
And floods that are at riv­ers’ mouths forth hurled;
And streams from fount­ain-heads
That rush down roc­ky beds;
And hushed be ye, deep hol­lows of the world;
While breath in ho­ly hymns is spent,
And sac­ri­fice of praise
In up­ward strains is sent.

Down sink the ser­pent’s trail!;
Nor let their craft pre­vail!;
Down sink the wing­èd dra­gon un­der­ground;
Who loves to cloud the soul,
The god who doth cont­rol
This low­er world, and id­ol-wor­ship found,
And urg­eth on the dogs of hell;
Against God’s pray­ing peo­ple,
His true Is­ra­el!

O bless­èd Father, Friend,
My soul do Thou de­fend
From soul-de­vour­ing dogs; de­fend my pray­er,
Defend my deeds, my life,
From their de­struct­ive strife:
And charge Thy ho­ly an­gels, that they bear
To Thee this of­fer­ing of my mind:
For hymns they car­ry that
With Thee ac­cept­ance find.

Now am I borne along
To lists of sac­red song:
Now ho­ly words in streams spon­ta­ne­ous flow:
A voice with­in me rings,
And touch­eth my heart-strings:
But un­to me, O Fa­ther, mer­cy show;
Forgive, O Bless­èd, if I stray,
In theme di­vine, and miss
The right­ful or­dered way.

What eye can stead­fast gaze,
When Thy dread bea­cons blaze?
What eye so wise, so strong, of mor­tal man,
That it un­closed may bear
Thy vi­vid light­ning’s glare?
E’en of the migh­ty ones on high none can,
However strong, how­ev­er bold,
The glo­ri­ous bright­ness of
Thy ma­jes­ty be­hold.

Now aims the mind too far,­
And finds re­pel­ling bar,
Nor can it pe­ne­trate by ut­most strain
The depths so dazz­ling bright,
Where Thou dost dwell in light:
So, fall­ing back from ef­forts feeb­ly vain,
It courts with­in its pro­per scope
An ob­ject known where­on
To fix the eye of hope.

That for Thy hymns it might
Thence pluck fair flow­ers of light,
Nor leave to thank­less winds an of­fer­ing:
But ren­der back to Thee
Thine own, for Thine they be;
For what of all things is not Thine, O King?
Father of all fa­thers. Thou!
To Thine eter­nal
Fa­ther­hood all be­ings bow!

But Fa­ther Thou hadst none;
Thou art the self-sprung One,
Before all worlds the sole great Mind ex­ist­ing:
Germ of what­e’er we see,­
Spur of all things that be:
Root of first worlds, by Thee alone sub­sis­ting:
Light of all light, truth’s ba­sis sure;
And wis­dom’s ev­er flow­ing
Stream, and fount­ain pure.

O Mind im­mut­able!
O Light in­scrut­able!
Thine is the eye that guides the light­ning fire,
In Thee the ag­es live,
Thou dost their lim­its give;
Who can Thy prais­es reach, eter­nal Sire?
Thou art be­yond the dreams of men;
Beyond the reach of mind,
Or high­est an­gel’s ken.

O’er all Thy rule is spread,
The liv­ing and the dead;
To minds that be, the par­ent mind Thou art;
All Heav’n Thou dost con­trol,
Thou nour­ish­est the soul,
And dost to spir­it en­er­gy im­part,
The spring Thou art whence all things flow,
And from eter­ni­ty the Root
Whence all things grow.

The on­ly One, yet all;
In Thee all num­bers fall;
The on­ly One, yet count­less ev­er­more:
The self-ex­ist­ent Mind,
Yet mind with law com­bined;
Minds realm, yet all the realm of mind be­fore:
Through all, yet all be­yond, art Thou:
To Thee, the Seed of all
Ex­ist­ing things, we bow.

Thou art the eter­nal Root,
Thou art the spread­ing Shoot!
Or male or fe­male Thou be called, ’tis one;
To mind Thou na­ture art,
And dost Thyself im­part,
But mind en­light­ened ne’er can say, ’tis done;
But here and there a word out­pours,
While feeb­ly it the
Un­fa­thomed depth around ex­plores.

Thou art the par­ent Tree,
All have their life from Thee,
Or stem or branch, what­ev­er is, is Thine.
Thou art the Light of light,
The Light of day so bright.
The Light that shin­eth ev­er­more di­vine:
Thou art, again, the hid­den Light,
By its own glory hid­den
Far from mor­tal sight.

Yet one, yet all, one Lord,
One on­ly, yet forth poured,
Through all forth poured in ho­ly mys­tery:
Of Thee thus sprung the Son,
Wisdom, the glo­ri­ous One,
Creator of the uni­verse to be.
The God­head se­vered in­to twain
By birth in­ef­fa­ble,
Un­se­vered doth re­main.

Yet One, though Twain, though Three:
Mysterious Tri­ni­ty!
For Thou art One in Three, and Three in One.
I sing Thee, Uni­ty!
I sing Thee, Tri­ni­ty!
The Tri­une King, the Fat­her, Spir­it, Son!
The Light di­vid­ed is not spent,
The One per­vad­ing mind,
Though part­ed, is not rent.

Thy ho­ly Will is done,
’Tis through the eter­nal Son;
And from the out­poured God­head forth there springs,
Which can­not be ex­pressed
In words, the Spir­it blest,
The Un­cre­ated! we of won­drous things
Have spok­en; but we speak not there:
We dare not if we could,
We could not if we dare.

Who knows the eter­nal laws?
Who knows the First Great Cause?
We may not say a se­cond, or a third.
O Birth be­yond our reach;
O Spring de­fy­ing speech!
What mor­tal to the task him­self could gird?
O match­less Ho­ly One, be­tween
The Fa­ther and the Son
Thy light doth in­ter­vene.

All re­ver­ence to Thee,
Eternal Spir­it, be!
Thou of the Three the mid­dle rank dost hold.
And now, most glo­ri­ous Son,
Thy prais­es be be­gun!
Thy birth; thy ge­ne­ra­tion, is un­told:
The Fa­ther’s Son, the Fa­ther’s will,
With Him Thou pre­sent wast,
And pre­sent Thou art still.

Thou with the Fa­ther art,
And ev­er next His heart;
Nor can deep flow­ing time Thy birth re­veal;
Nor aged Æon say
When was Thy na­tal day;
He ne­ver learned, nor could re­move the seal.
Son with the Fa­ther! He the same
Who should here­af­ter give
To Æon birth and name.

Who hath adjudged the eye
Into God’s depths to pry?
The sub­tle tongue will dare, but man is blind.
Such dar­ing is in vain,
’Tis god­less and pro­fane.
Thou dost to Thine pour light up­on the mind,
And guard their hearts with ho­ly care.
That they in dark­ness sink
Not through gross mat­ter’s snare.

To Thee all ho­ly praise
It well be­fits to raise;
For Thou of all art Fa­ther, all are Thine:
Thou all the worlds didst found,
Thou dost all ag­es bound,
Thou framedst all the host of Hea­ven di­vine;
To Thee all minds of light do sing,
And star­ry spheres
In­tel­li­gent hail Thee their king!

While round in ho­ly choir
Dance their bright orbs of fire,
The blest ones all do shout and sing be­fore Thee;
The world with­in, around,
They all Thy praise re­sound,
All in their sta­tions ev­er­more ad­ore Thee:
Those in the zones; and those out­side,
Who yet their se­ver­al posts
As­signed in wis­dom guide.

Earth’s helms­men, sons of fame;
Of link an­gel­ic, and who draw their birth
From old he­ro­ic race;
Who ev­er take their place,
By hid­den ways, o’er men and things of earth:
And though of an un­yield­ing will,
To dark-rayed world­ly glo­ries
Ev­er yield they still.

To Thee blithe nature sings,
And all from her that springs:
For Thou with hea­ven­ly breath dost them re­new,
Forth pour­ing from ab­ove
Thy stores of grace and love,
Which ev­er fresh des­cend in show­ers and dew;
Thou to all na­ture nature art,
Lord of worlds un­stained!
And dost Thine own im­part.

For na­ture Thou didst train
And school, that she again
Might par­ent be of ev­ery mor­tal thing;
The faith­ful coun­ter­part
Of all that Thy­self art.
Of life and health the ev­er flow­ing spring!
That to the world’s ex­trem­est bound
Each part in turn with
Liv­ing beau­ty might be crowned.

For it were ne­ver right
That things should jar and fight,
Or dregs of earth with ex­cel­lence contend;
But all by Thy de­cree
Is wrought in har­mo­ny;
Nor aught shall per­ish, nor the chorus end;
But each from other takes its share,
And all through one ano­ther
Taste Thy lov­ing care.

The eter­nal wheel re­volves,
And the dark rid­dle solves;
Things die; Thou send­est forth Thy breath, they live,
And in fresh glo­ry bloom,
Renewed from mor­tal doom.
Thus nur­tured na­ture nur­tur­ing doth give;
And she doth sing a death­less song
To Thee by all her child­ren
Through the ag­es long.

In co­lor or in skin
Without, or life with­in,
And deeds, how­ev­er var­ied they may be,
Yet na­ture molds them all
Obedient to her call,
And links them fast in ho­ly uni­ty;
And from all crea­tures thus doth raise
Of dif­fer­ing voices one
Har­mo­ni­ous hymn of praise.

To Thee, their Lord and king,
All things their trib­ute bring
Of cease­less praise; the night, the morn, the sky.
The light­ning flash, the snow.
And things that spring and grow;
All bo­dies and all spir­its; birds that fly,
And beasts that graze; seeds, plants, and roots;
The sea with all that swims,
And earth with all her fruits.

The waves of trou­ble roll;
Look Thou up­on my soul,
To act so pow­er­less, to learn so slow,
Where on Thy Li­by­an sands
The mys­tic tem­ple stands;
For hi­ther I, Thy ho­ly will to know,
Oppressed with grief, my steps have bent,
On pray­er and sup­pli­ca­tion
Un­to Thee in­tent.

Before Thy fa­vor­ing eye
Earth’s gloomy va­pors fly:
Look Thou on me, and bid my sor­rows cease.
’Tis so! e’en now my heart
Through food Thy hymns im­part—
For Thine they are—hath nour­ish­ment of peace.
And points my mind with keen de­sire
To rise afresh to thoughts
And words of hea­ven­ly fire.

But send, King, Thy light,
To quick­en my dull sight.
And guide me on the road that leads to Thee.
And, Fa­ther, grant, I pray.
That from the bo­dy’s sway
My bet­ter part, es­cap­ing, may be free.
And not again be down­ward hurled
Beneath the floods and ed­dies
Of this trou­bled world.

Yet here, while in the strife
Of world en­chain­èd life,
Blessed, may kind for­tune smile on me;
Nor stor­my tem­pest blow
To check the ho­ly glow,
Or rude­ly break the mind’s tran­quil­ity;
Lest in­rush of the world­ly flood
Should leave to me no lei­sure
For the things of God.

And where­to I have striv­en,
By grace which Thou hast giv­en,
(For all good gifts of help and strength are Thine),
May I the ground re­tain,
Nor e’er fall back again.
For which Thy gifts this hum­ble wreath of mine
From ho­ly fields to Thee I bring,
Thou of all cre­ations pure
The ete­rnal King.

To Thee and to Thy Son,
Thine own, the on­ly One,
Alone of Thee be­got­ten, the All-wise,
Whom from eter­ni­ty
Thou hadst, and hast, with Thee,
Though forth from Thee He came to har­mo­nize
All things, and fa­shion, form, and guide,
By wis­dom’s breath out­poured,
And ov­er all pre­side.

The hoa­ry ages wake,
And their due cours­es take,
At His com­mand; and of His match­less skill,
And work­man­ship di­vine,
As if by plumb and line,
This rug­ged world He mold­eth to His will,
Whate’er ex­ists ab­ove the ground,
Or on its sur­face,
Or with­in its depths pro­found.

And mer­ci­ful and kind
He shines with ho­ly mind
On toil­ing mor­tals; and doth bring re­lief;
For He doth loose the chain
Of toil­some care and pain;
Effects their good, and drives away their grief.
The God who did the world cre­ate.
What mar­vel that His own
He guard from whelm­ing fate?

And hi­ther south­ward now,
That I might pay this vow
To Thee the migh­ty world’s eter­nal guide,
I came from north­ern Thrace,
Where three years’ drea­ry space
Near the im­per­ial court I did ab­ide.
In toil, with tears and ang­uish sore.
For on my shoulders I
My mo­ther coun­try bore.

And well Thou know’st, good Lord,
How from my limbs was poured.
A sweat of ago­ny from day to day:.
Nor rest had I by night.
In that dire men­tal fight:.
But wa­tered was the couch on which I lay.
From stream­ing eyes. Then to and fro,.
To ev­ery shrine a sup­pli­ant
I made haste to go.

To all in turn I bring
Prayer, chap­let, of­fer­ing,
And water with my tears each sac­red floor,
That I might not with pain
Have jour­ney made in vain,
But that Thou wouldst wide-op­en hope­ful door.
Thus in my own and coun­try’s need
I with Thy ho­ly ones
Through fruit­ful Thrace did plead

And who across the main.
Guard Car­tha­gin­ian plain,
I sought them all, if they might suc­cor me,
Throughout the re­gion round.
Whom Thou with rays hadst crowned
Angelic, Thine at­tend­ant saints to be.
The blest ones helped my ea­ger pray­ers.
They helped my many toils,
And soothed my ma­ny cares.

Life did no plea­sure yield,
While my poor coun­try reeled
Half stunned: but Thou hast right­ed her, King!
The Rock of Ag­es Thou,
To whom the world doth bow!
Crushed were my limbs, my soul a life­less thing:
But Thou from Hea­ven hast breathed at length
New vi­g­or on my soul,
And on my limbs new strength.

For Thou hast brought re­lief,
And stayed o’er­flow­ing grief:
Toils have an end, the wear­ied soul hath rest.
’Twas by Thy wis­dom planned,
’Twas wrought out by Thy hand.
Thou to my mind hast giv­en re­fresh­ment blest.
Now, my God, do Thou or­dain.
That to the Li­by­ans these
Thine own sweet gifts re­main

Of our long tri­bu­la­tion,
Of Thy so great sal­va­tion,
A last­ing record! Hear Thy sup­pli­ant’s pray­er;
And hence­forth may my life
Be safe from harm­ful strife.
Loose me from toil, dis­ease, and dead­ly care.
Thus to Thy ser­vant bow Thine ear.
And grant my men­tal life
Be ev­er bright and clear.

I would not show­ers of wealth
To try the soul’s best health,
And leave no lei­sure for the things di­vine;
Nor pov­erty would I,
With down­cast sull­en eye,
Black spec­ter to the house, prone to re­pine.
Bowed down to earth with earth­ly cares.
Both gro­vel on the ground,
And both are dan­ger­ous snares.

And both for­get­ful are
Of bet­ter things by far,
The mind, and all that to the mind doth cling,
Unless, hea­ven­ly Friend,
Thou shouldst Thy help ex­tend.
Yea, Fa­ther, wis­dom’s ho­ly self and spring,
Upon this fal­tering soul of mine
The light of mind from Thine
Own bo­som cause to shine.

And on my heart, I pray.
Turn Thou blest wis­dom’s ray,
With help­ing hand, and point the ho­ly road
That lead­eth un­to Thee;
And set Thy seal on me,
And let me have the tok­en of my God;
And from my life, and from my pray­er.
Drive earth­ly demons of
Pre­sump­tion and des­pair.

And may my bo­dy be
From all dis­hon­or free,
As fort­ress un­as­sail­able to foe;
And may my spir­it pure
Unto the end en­dure
By Thine all-sav­ing help. Full well I know,
That I do bear dark world­ly stain,
And held in bond­age am
By earth­ly pas­sions’ chain;

But Thou del­iv­er­er art,
And cleans­er of the heart.
From ev­ils circ­ling round es­cape af­ford.
And from dis­eas­es all,
And bonds that fret and gall.
I bear Thy seed, of nob­le mind, good Lord,
A spark that is­sued forth from Thee,
And flash­ing down through depths
Of mat­ter lit on me.

For in the world, King,
Thou mad’st a soul to spring,
And in the bo­dy, through the soul, a mind:
O pi­ty then Thine own.
The hand­maid from Thy throne:
From Thee des­cend­ing, hap­less I did bind
Myself as la­bor­er free to earth:
Not la­bor­er now, but slave,
Down­fall­en from my birth.

For, me the world around
With witch­ery hath bound.
Some lit­tle strength may yet re­main in me
Of sec­ret in­ner light,
Not yet ex­ting­uished quite:
But o’er my head is rolled a migh­ty sea,
That doth make blind the men­tal eye
That would its God and things
Of hea­ven­ly worth de­scry.

O look with pi­ty­ing eye,
And hear the mourn­ful cry
Of Thine own child, Fa­ther good and kind:
Whom oft when she would rise
Up to her na­tive skies,
Impelled by ho­ly ef­forts of the mind.
Yet fas­ci­na­tion of this world
Hath choked, and back to earth’s
Dark maz­es hurled.

But O! send forth Thy light,
A bea­con fire through night,
To guide and cheer me on my up­ward way;
And may that seed take root,
And, strik­ing out its shoot
From small be­gin­ning, head of flower dis­play.
Father, such Thy help di­vine,
Enthrone me in the light
Of life ab­ove to shine.

Where na­ture can­not clasp
With her re­sist­less grasp:
And whence no long­er earth, or web of fate,
Can back re­call to woe
And vain de­sires be­low.
Let brood de­ceit­ful that I scorn and hate
Of world­ly pas­sions scat­tered be,
And leave thy ser­vant,
My God, at peace with Thee!

Me and earth’s din be­twixt
Be fiery bar­ri­er fixed.
Thy grace, Fa­ther, to my soul re­veal;
And let thy sup­pli­ant find,
With out­spread wings of mind,
The as­cend­ing path, and bear aloft Thy seal,
A ter­ror to the up-spring­ing foe.
Who breathe to mor­tals god­less
Thoughts from depths be­low.

But badge and tok­en known
To those about Thy throne,
The ho­ly ones, who all the heights survey
Of Thy bright world, and stand
As guards in high com­mand,
Bearing the keys of up­ward fie­ry way.
That they may give an en­trance free,
And op­en wide the gates
Of hea­ven­ly light to me.

But still while creep­ing here
Upon this emp­ty sphere
Of earth, yet not of earth grant me to be;
But from a bet­ter root
E’en here at­test­ing fruit
To bear of fire-proved deeds, my God, to Thee;
And Thy true voice to hear and know,
And what­e’er warms and makes
In souls blest hope to grow.

It doth me now re­pent
Of life on earth ill-spent:
Begone, the blear-eyed haze of god­less men,
And built-up ci­ties’ strength:
Begone, ye breadth and length
Of world­ly aims, nor ha­rass me again.
Ye sweet ca­la­mi­ties, ye toys
Of mighty seem­ing, boot­less
Boons, and joy­less joys.

Tranced by your bra­ve­ry
The soul in sla­ve­ry
To earth is held; and wretched is indeed;
For of her own good things
This cup obli­vi­on brings:
And things, where­with to sa­tis­fy her need
She hoped, are forth­with snatched away;
And from vain dream she wakes
To en­vy’s shaft a prey.

For for­tune here be­low
A dou­ble face doth show,
False queen: whom if you hap­ly win and trust,
And in her li­ve­ry shine,
And at her ta­ble dine.
Soon rue your lot with bit­ter tears you must.
When down from pe­des­tal so high
You fall in wide­spread ruin,
And ne­glect­ed lie.

For here, from ad­verse sides.
Now good, now ill, be­tides:
To mor­tals such is life’s ne­ces­si­ty.
To God, or what hath birth
From God, but not to earth.
Is good un­min­gled with ad­vers­ity.
Did cup of sweets in­tox­icate?
Ensnared I learnt by crop
Of woes a les­son late.

I hate these laws of change;
And hence up­ward range,
With wings ex­pand­ed, to the peace­ful sky:
To bright ether­eal plains,
Where my dear Fa­ther reigns,
From earth, and earth’s two-sid­ed gifts I fly.
Steward of the life of mind.
To Thee I look; with Thee
May I ac­cept­ance find.

My soul doth hang on Thee:
Heed Thou Thy sup­pli­ant’s plea.
Bound here on earth, yet strugg­ling to ascend
The up­ward paths of mind:
As Thou thus far hast shined,
O shine yet more: light wings of suc­cor lend:
Snap dou­ble pas­sions’ bond, and chain
Of earth un­loose, and let
My soul her free­dom gain.

For na­ture by these chains
Her trea­cher­ous power ob­tains,
And binds me down to earth a help­less prey;
But from the bo­dy freed,
And all its dire­ful need,
Grant me to take swift flight to realms of day.
To Thine own halls and Thine own breast.
Whence flows the Fount­ain of
The soul; and be at rest.

A drop from Fount­ain Head
Poured forth, to earth I sped,
An ex­ile and a wan­der­er from Thee;
Me now, I pray, re­store
To where I was be­fore:
With light an­ces­tral may I min­gled be!
Tune Thou my mind with Thine own choir
In ho­li­ness to sing
The hymns Thou dost in­spire.

Once saved from mor­tal plight,
Once min­gled with the light,
Father, grant I ne­ver en­ter more
Within earth’s black do­mains
Of pe­nal­ties and pains;
But while I yet am chained to this dark shore.
And bear life’s drud­ge­ry be­low,
Bid Thou that for­tune’s breez­es
On me gent­ly blow.