Beloved Ideal! If one selfish aim
Has mingled with my worship; if to stand
A chosen knight or priest at thy right hand,
Or on thy sacred tablets leave my name,
Has been a wish detracting from thy claim
To pure heart-service — of thy grace, command
The tempter from me. In the humble band
Of acolytes who tend thy holy flame,
Or, chanting, scatter incense on thy shrine,
May I be lost — a voice to swell the song,
Though none discern the face of him who sings,
One of the blest but undistinguished throng
Who, gazing rapt upon thy mien divine,
Is hidden in the incense which he swings,