Songs of Religion and Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

If a mortal man might sing
Theme above all mortal wing;
If the creatures of the clay
With the name of God might play;
If the moulded breath might tell
All that stirs the soul's deep well,
I would sing a song of glee,
Father of all songs, to Thee!

Thou art not the awful thing,
Iron ruler, despot king,
Harsh, revengeful, stern, severe,
Child of terror, birth of fear:

Thou art nothing like to Him,
Ghost of sickly dreamer's whim;
If I sing a song to Thee,
It shall be a song of glee.

Fools may rant, and fools may rave,
Loudly damn, and loudly save,
With a solemn sounding swell,
Sweeping honest souls to hell,
With church-blasts of mimic thunder
Turning every over under;
Thou from wrath of man art free,
God of gladness, God of glee!

What Thou art no tongue may say;
I remember I am clay;
Scarcely knowing brother man,
Shall I venture God to scan?

From within and from without
Full of dream, and full of doubt,
Feeling only lent from Thee,
This glad Being, God of glee!

Shall I set Thee on a throne
Ruling solemnly alone?
Shall I dress Thee in strange glory?
Grandly chant Thy epic story?
Shall I lodge Thee in the tomb,
There to lighten up my gloom?
Shalt Thou sleep in death with me,
God of gladness, God of glee?

Shall my wit be Thine inspector?
Shall my knife be Thy dissector?
Shall I perch Thee on a steeple,
To feed the gaze of gaping people?

Shall I show Thee round and round,
Here explain, and there expound?
In a cold creed prison Thee,
God of gladness, God of glee?

Shalt Thou be my sworn director,
Patroniser, and protector?
Shall I stamp with Thy great seal
All I think, and all I feel?
Shalt Thou be a horse to ride
For the pranks of human pride?
And shall strife be born of Thee,
God of gladness, God of glee?

Shalt Thou hug me in Thy breast,
Fledgling of no human nest?
Shall I be the one pet-lamb
Of the terrible I am?

I the called and the elect,
Thou Jehovah of a sect?
Bastards all, save only me,
Thou, my Father, God of glee?

O! it is a hard assay
For the reach of human clay,
And yet every fool will mount
Thee to number, Thee to count,
With a plummet and a square
Meting out the pathless air;
Teach me how to think of Thee,
God of gladness, God of glee!

If my tongue must lisp its lay,
I will speak what best I may:
I will say, Thou art a Soul,
Weaving wisely through the whole;

I will say Thou art a Power
Working good from hour to hour,
I will say Thou art to me
Light and Life, and Love and Glee.

Thou art each, and Thou art all
In Creation's living Hall,
Every breathing shape of beauty,
Every solemn voice of duty!
Every high and holy mood,
All that's great, and all that's good,
All is Echo sent from Thee,
God of gladness, God of glee!