O glorious light! Thy limpid wave...

O glorious light! Thy limpid wave

Doth floor of living being pave,

And life from out the caves of darkness

Waft to His sheltering architrave.

From void of night's lone pall of jet,

Yellow and red and violet

Into a quivering beam were woven,—

His flying looms are aweaving yet.

If man and beast and tree and flower

Unweave not Love's rich beauteous dower,

All Danaë again earth darkles

Beneath His ceaseless and golden shower.