The heart of God is my demesne,
I wander there all day,
With the winds of hope,
And the winds of joy,
And the winds of fear at play.
I feel the sunsets of His worlds,
And the dawns come and go there;
I hear the surging of His seas,
And all desires that flow there.
I sense the rhythm of His years
Like waters ever falling;
Their music sometimes is as tears
Or prayer-voices calling;
I breathe all beauty, and the clouds
Of sorrow that sweep through it,
Or horrors that in sickening shrouds
Drift dumb into it.
The vast pulse of the Universe
Is there for ever beating,
Time-that's-past and Time-to-come
Meeting, melting, fleeting.

The heart of God is my demesne,
For what is it but Life?
But a wonder-place
Where a child laughs,
Or millions fall in strife!
But a blest place—or a curst place
I call on death to swallow,
Nor let another from the womb
Of wanton Being follow!
But a place that once wandered in
I cannot cease from wanting,
Or trusting, though its way has been
Woe-bestrewn or daunting.
A place to bide, with earth and star,
Created yet creating,
At peace sometimes, or oft at war,
Fated—yet ever fating.
The heart of God is my demesne,
For what is it but Life?
The heart of me is God's demesne,
I help Him win the strife.