Censing the altar with the whispered shower
Of worship, I approach the holiest hour
When in the monstrance burns the blessed Host.
Landed on life’s chryselephantine coast,
I make the godly gesture of pure power.
The silence shrouds me like a folded flower
When all life lapses in the Holy Ghost.
How could I love God if I loved not thee,
Or love thee if I were not lost in God?
Could there be three unless those Three were One?
There is no shore to the celestial sea;
There is no pylon to the last abode,
The temple of our truth, Hilarion!