O living pictures of the dead,

⁠    O songs without a sound,

O fellowship whose phantom tread

    ⁠Hallows a phantom ground —

How in a gleam have these revealed

    ⁠The faith we had not found.

We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,

    ⁠We have passed by God on earth:

His seven sins and his sorrows seven,

    ⁠His wayworn mood and mirth,

Like a ragged cloak have hid from us

    ⁠The secret of his birth.

Brother of men, when now I see

⁠    The lads go forth in line,

Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me

⁠    As for thy bread and wine;

Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me

⁠    To take their death for mine.