No Man Had Ever Heard

The Little And The Great Are Joined In One By God's Great Force. The Wondrous Golden Sun Is Linked Unto The Glow-worm's Tiny Spark; The Eagle Soars To Heaven In His Flight; And In Those Realms Of Space, All Bathed In Light, Soar None Except The Eagle And The Lark.

The Soul, At Peace, Reflects The Peace Without, Forgetting Grief As Sunset Skies Forget The Morning's Transient Shower.

When Angels Visit Earth, The Messengers Of God's Decree, They Come As Lightning, Wind: Before The Throne, They All Are Living Fire.

Not Like The Brazen Giant Of Greek Fame, With Conquering Limbs Astride From Land To Land; Here At Our Sea-washed, Sunset Gates Shall Stand A Mighty Woman With A Torch, Whose Flame Is The Imprisoned Lightning, And Her Name Mother Of Exiles.

Still Ours The Dance, The Feast, The Glorious Psalm, The Mystic Lights Of Emblem, And The Word.