Years after years,
  Through blood, and tears,
  And a thick hell of hatreds, and hopes, and fears,
  We waded and flew,
  And the islets were few
  Where the bud-blighted flowers of happiness grew.

  Our feet now, every palm,
  Are sandalled with calm,
  And the dew of our wings is a rain of balm;
  And, beyond our eyes,
  The human love lies,
  Which makes all it gazes on Paradise.

CHORUS OF SPIRITS AND HOURS
  Then weave the web of the mystic measure;
  From the depths of the sky and the ends of the earth,
  Come, swift Spirits of might and of pleasure,
  Fill the dance and the music of mirth,
  As the waves of a thousand streams rush by
  To an ocean of splendor and harmony!