Here shall the walls be wrought
And the stately fabric gleam,
A court for the kings of thought
And the emperors of dream.
Though the forms they wore are gone
Like shadow of flying bird,
Their spirits are clothed upon
With the immortal word.

Here the laurelled brotherhood,
Like the stars in primal dance,
Shall praise what God found good,
With golden iterance;
And the sages from east and west,
And the prophets of burning lip,
Shall welcome us to the test
Of their great fellowship.

Here shall be garnered the fruit
Of the mystical cosmic tree
That gropes with its craving root
Where the waters of wisdom be;
And the burden of hearts that broke
Neath the oracles too sublime,
And lore of the nameless folk,
The treasure-trove of time.

Here shall clarion voices call
The crescent soul to joy,
And hands of healing fall
On feverish annoy;
Visions shall come and go
On the dreaming eyes of youth,
And here shall her chosen know
The countenance of Truth.