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THE CREATION OF THE ANGELS.
He lay before Himself, and gazed As ravished with the sight,
Brooding on His own attributes With dread untold delight.
No ties were on His bliss, for He Had neither end nor cause;
For His own glory 'twas enough That He was what He was.
His glory was full grown ; His light Had owned no dawning dim;
His love did not outgrow Himself, For naught could grow in Him.
He stirred — and yet we know not how Nor wherefore He should move;
In our poor human words, it was An overflow of love.
It was the first outspoken word That broke that peace sublime,
An outflow of eternal love Into the lap of time.
He stirred ; and beauty all at once Forth from His Being broke;
Spirit and strength, and living life, Created things awoke.