We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As théou, Léove, were the déep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
But burn’d not through us thy imagining
Like fiérce méood in a séong céaught,
We were as clamour’d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.
For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,—
The lives travelling dark fears,
And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool
Thrown down abysmal places?
Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth
And our journeying time theirs;
As words of air, life makes of starry earth
Sweet soul-delighted faces;
As voices are we in the worldly wind;
The great wind of the world’s fate
Is turn’d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.
But not in the world as voices storm-shatter’d,
Not borne down by the wind’s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fill’d with fires.
For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Love’s meaning our life wields,
Making our souls like syllables to throng
His tunes of exultation.
Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly,
As rain blown along earth’s fields;
Yet are we god-desiring liturgy,
Sung joys of adoration;
Yea, made of chance and all a labouring strife,
We go charged with a strong flame;
For as a language Love hath seized on life
His burning heart to story.
Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee,
Thy thought’s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory.
A hymn to the god of love which, if there were such a god, would have some meaning. Otherwise, however good the poetry, it is all false. God is love, love is god - what on earth can those statements mean? What the weird spellings in the first two verses are there for I do not know and I do not care.
Abercrombie reminds us that we owe our existence to the satisfaction of love's desire.
Good gosh almighty! he said as he read the cantankerous comments posted by colicky colleagues!
love is itself a mercy, love is itself a blessings; love is the ubiquitous hymn...
Yea, Love, we are thine, the liturgy of thee, Thy thought’s golden and glad name, The mortal conscience of immortal glee, Love’s zeal in Love’s own glory. the final verse is so telling about love. tony
For Love doth use us for a sound of song, And Love’s meaning our life wields, Making our souls like syllables to throng His tunes of exultation. ........./// superb and rapturous expression
For Love doth use us for a sound of song, And Love’s meaning our life wields, Making our souls like syllables to throng His tunes of exultation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Precious lovers out there, hear the call by a contemporary of yours........