Let.

Let every Heart prepare Him room,
Let every Hand find fuel for his Fire to consume,
Let every Mouth speak seeds for His Kingdom to bloom,
Let every Aching Soul know the fullness that lies in an empty tomb.

Francis Thompson: The Kingdom of God

O WORLD invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,	5
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumbed conceiving soars!—	10
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
‘Tis ye, ‘tis your estrangèd faces,	15
That miss the many-splendoured thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.	20
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!

Summer Dress.

The summer dress, 
Once verdant,
Now lies about the ankles 
And across the forest floor.
Glory has been shed, laid down, 
But not the majesty. 
The form now revealed in the absence 
Of it's outer garments,
 Is a breathtaking and bare structure.  
The whimsy of the green, then red, then gold now gone, 
We can see in full view, the bones that endure.  
Now, another ring about it's trunk, 
Leaves not just dying, but sacrificing, 
Pouring their remaining life back into the bark,
The capillary course having executed a full reverse 
So that another four seasons may be survived.  
In every season, no matter what it be, 
I know I shall never write the beauty of a tree.