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And it will speak sometimes, far off and clear, Aloof, unflushed, ungilded, calm, superb, The voice of angels at the judgment-seat, Impartial, cold exponents of the law. And then it chants! O morning stars in song, O hills in choir triumphant, ringing earth, And dome of shuddering echoes, hush and hear! It has the anthem laid upon its lips Which all creation sang at the seventh dawn, And God heard, smiling, saying: "It is good." And in wild breezes, ere the timid spring Quite flings her draperies apart, and dares Her naked foot of blessing on the turf, Her naked breast of promise on the air, It pipes, like that goat-footed god of Greece Beside his stream, pillowed on life itself, And sometimes like the potent piper, who Charmed hell to hush its dreary agony. Perceval Gibbon.