The illimitable, silent,
never-resting thing called Time,
rolling, rushing on, swift, silent,
like an all-embracing ocean-tide,
on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations,
like apparitions which are,
and then are not….
Whether we wake or we sleep,
Whether we carol or weep,
The Sun with his Planets in chime,
Marketh the going of Time.
If you look deep enough you will see music;
the heart of nature being everywhere music.
To us also, through every star,
through every blade of grass,
is not God made visible
if we will open our minds and our eyes.