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IV

Were you not wont, early illumined Christians,
To sing, at the time of lamp-lighting, hymns of confident praise?
Now should a high seraph, sounding his silver clarion,
Echoing in heaven’s vaults these lamp-kindling lauds,
Summon melodious shouts of bright clair-audient angels
Because the All-wise, All-merciful, All-compassionate
Father of Lights, in whom is no shadow of turning,
Has laid the foundations of all universes secure.

Sleep by the shrouded mountains, now, pastoral ministers,
While the Shepherd of Israel musters his flock of suns and moons,
Sleep by the hidden rivers, now, fervent industrials,
While the Master of Music weaves with his time-space looms;
Sleep, now, peering philosophers, venturing physicists,
The Lord of Love his alembic allumes, his crucible glows;
The watchers and holy ones of our darkness are cognisant,
But no shadow of night their lucid vigil knows.