Page:The Man with the Hoe, Markham, 1900.djvu/106

Rh See the still hand of the Shaper,

Moving in the dusk of being:

Burns at first a misty taper,

Like the moon in veil of vapor,

When the rack of night is fleeing.

In the stone a dream is sleeping,

Just a tinge of life, a tremor;

In the tree a soul is creeping—

Last, a rush of angels sweeping

With the skies beyond the dreamer.

So the Lord of Life is flinging

Out a splendor that conceals Him:

And the God is softly singing,

And on secret ways is winging,

Till the rush of song reveals Him. 78