Let me be to Thee as the circling bird

 Let me be to Thee as the circling bird, 
Or bat with tender and air-crisping wings
That shapes in half-light his departing rings, 
From both of whom a changeless note is heard.

I have found my music in a common word, 
Trying each pleasurable throat that sings
And every praised sequence of sweet strings, 
And know infallibly which I preferred.


The authentic cadence was discovered late
Which ends those only strains that I approve, 
And other science all gone out of date
And minor sweetness scarce made mention of: 
I have found the dominant of my range and state - 
Love, O my God, to call Thee Love and Love.

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