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God willed, who never needed speech,

“Let all things be:”

And, lo, the starry firmament

And land and sea

And his first thought of life that lives

In you and me.

His circle of eternity

We see in part;

Our spirits are his breath, our hearts

Beat from his heart;

Hence we have played as little gods

And called it art.

Lacking his power, we shared his dream

Of perfect things;

Between the tents of hope and sweet

Rememberings

Have sat in ashes, but our souls

Went forth on wings.

Where life fell short of some desire

In you and me,

Feeling for beauty which our eyes

Could never see,

Behold, from out the void we willed

That it should be,

And sometimes dreamed our lisping songs

Of humanhood

Might voice his silent harmony

Of waste and wood,

And he, beholding his and ours,

Might find it good.