Murder the work and lust the anodyne,

Pains of the beast 'gainst bestial solace set.

But this shall never be: to us remains

One city that has nothing of the beast,

That was not built for gross, material gains,

Sharp, wolfish power or empire's glutted feast.

We are not wholly brute. To us remains

A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams,

A place of visions and of loosening chains,

A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams.

She was not builded out of common stone

But out of all men's yearning and all prayer

That she might live, eternally our own,

The Spirit's stronghold-barred against despair.

XXXI. Hymn (For Boys' Voices)

All the things magicians do

Could be done by me and you

Freely, if we only knew.

Human children every day

Could play at games the faeries play

If they were but shown the way.

Every man a God would be

Laughing through eternity

If as God's his eyes could see.

All the wizardries of God--

Slaying matter with a nod,

Charming spirits with his rod,

With the singing of his voice

Making lonely lands rejoice,

Leaving us no will nor choice,

Drawing headlong me and you

As the piping Orpheus drew

Man and beast the mountains through,

By the sweetness of his horn

Calling us from lands forlorn

Nearer to the widening morn--

All that loveliness of power

Could be man's peculiar dower,

Even mine, this very hour;

We should reach the Hidden Land

And grow immortal out of hand,

If we could but understand!

We could revel day and night

In all power and all delight

If we learn to think aright.

XXXII. "Our Daily Bread"

We need no barbarous words nor solemn spell

To raise the unknown. It lies before our feet;

There have been men who sank down into Hell

In some suburban street,

And some there are that in their daily walks

Have met archangels fresh from sight of God,

Or watched how in their beans and cabbage-stalks

Long files of faerie trod.

Often me too the Living voices call

In many a vulgar and habitual place,

I catch a sight of lands beyond the wall,

I see a strange god's face.

And some day this work will work upon me so

I shall arise and leave both friends and home

And over many lands a pilgrim go

Through alien woods and foam,

Seeking the last steep edges of the earth

Whence I may leap into that gulf of light

Wherein, before my narrowing Self had birth,

Part of me lived aright.

XXXIII. How He Saw Angus the God

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