Hymn to Love by Lascelles Abercrombie
We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee,
As thÃ©ou, LÃ©ove, were the dÃ©ep thought
And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we,
Thy fires of thought out-spoken:
But burnâ€™d not through us thy imagining
Like fiÃ©rce mÃ©ood in a sÃ©ong cÃ©aught,
We were as clamourâ€™d words a fool may fling,
Loose words, of meaning broken.
For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,â€”
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 worldâ€™s fate
Is turnâ€™d, as air to a shapen sound, to mind
And marvellous desires.
But not in the world as voices storm-shatterâ€™d,
Not borne down by the windâ€™s weight;
The rushing time rings with our splendid word
Like darkness fillâ€™d with fires.
For Love doth use us for a sound of song,
And Loveâ€™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 earthâ€™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 thoughtâ€™s golden and glad name,
The mortal conscience of immortal glee,
Loveâ€™s zeal in Loveâ€™s own glory.