On this high altar, fringed with ferns br That darken against the sky, br The dawn in lonely beauty burns br And all our evils die. br br The struggling sea that roared below br Is quieter than the dew, br Quieter than the clouds that flow br Across the stainless blue. br br On this bare crest, the angels kneel br And breathe the sweets that rise br From flowers too little to reveal br Their beauty to our eyes. br br I have seen Edens on the earth br With queenly blooms arrayed; br But here the fairest come to birth, br The smallest flowers He made. br br O, high above the sounding pine, br And richer, sweeter far, br The wild thyme wakes. The celandine br Looks at the morning star. br br They may not see the heavens unfold. br They breathe no out-worn prayer; br But, on a mountain, as of old, br His glory fills the air.