(Song of the Avaiting Seraphs.)

FULL Chorus.

To Him Who bade the Heavens abide, yet cease not from their motion.
To Him Who tames the moonstruck tide twice a day round Ocean–
Let His Names be magnified in all poor folks’ devotion!

Powers and Gifts.

Not for Prophecies or Powers, Visions, Gifts, or Graces.
But the unregardful hours that grind us in our places
With the burden on our backs, the weather in our faces.

Toils.

Not for any Miracle of easy Loaves and Fishes.
But for doing, ‘gainst our will, work against our wishes —
Such as finding food to fill daily-emptied dishes.

Glories.

Not for Voices, Harps or Wings or rapt illumination.
But the grosser Self that springs of use and occupation.
Unto which the Spirit clings as her last salvation.

Powers, Glories, Toils, and Gifts.

(He Who launched our Ship of Fools many anchors gave us.

Lest one gale should start them all — one collision stave us.
???Praise Him for the petty creeds
???That prescribe in paltry needs
??Solemn rites to trivial deeds and, by small things, save us!)

Services and Loves.

Heart may fail, and Strength outwear, and Purpose turn to Loathing.
But the everyday affair of business, meals, and clothing.
Builds a bulkhead ‘twixt Despair and the Edge of Nothing.