The Two Greetings. I. Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, Where all that was to be, in all that was, Whirl’d for a million æons thro’ the vast Waste dawn of multitudinous-eddying light— Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, Thro’ all this changing world of changeless law, And every phase of ever-heightening life, And nine long months of antenatal gloom, With this last moon, this crescent—her dark orb Touch’d with earth’s light—thou comest, darling boy; Our own; a babe in lineament and limb Perfect, and prophet of the perfect man; Whose face and form are hers and mine in one, Indissolubly married like our love; Live, and be happy in thyself, and serve This mortal race thy kin so well, that men May bless thee as we bless thee, O young life Breaking with laughter from the dark; and may The fated channel where thy motion lives Be prosperously shaped, and sway thy course Along the years of haste and random youth Unshatter’d; then full-current thro’ full man: And last in kindly curves, with gentlest fall, By quiet field:, a slowly-dying power, To that last deep where we and thou are still. II. I. Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, From that great deep, before our world begins, Whereon the Spirit of God moves as he will— Out of the deep, my child, out of the deep, From that true world within the world we see, Whereof our world is but the bounding shore— Out of the deep, Spirit, out of the deep, With this ninth moon, that sends the hidden sun Down yon dark sea, thou comest, darling boy. II. For in the world, which is not ours, They said ‘Let us make man’ and that which should be man, From that one light no man can look upon, Drew to this shore lit by the suns and moons And all the shadows. O dear Spirit half-lost In thine own shadow and this fleshly sign That thou art thou—who wailest being born And banish’d into mystery, and the pain Of this divisible-indivisible world Among the numerable-innumerable Sun, sun, and sun, thro’ finite-infinite space In finite-infinite Time—our mortal veil And shatter’d phantom of that infinite One, Who made thee unconceivably Thyself Out of His whole World-self and all in all— Live thou! and of the grain and husk, the grape And ivyberry, choose; and still depart From death to death thro’ life and life, and find Nearer and ever nearer Him, who wrought Not Matter, nor the finite-infinite, But this main-miracle, that thou art thou, With power on thine own act and on the world. The Human Cry. I. Hallowed be Thy name—Halleluiah!— Infinite Ideality! Immeasurable Reality! Infinite Personality! Hallowed be Thy name—Halleluiah! II. We feel we are nothing—for all is Thou and in Thee; We feel we are something—that also has come from Thee; We know we are nothing—but Thou wilt help us to be. Hallowed be Thy name—Halleluiah!
Return to the Alfred Lord Tennyson library , or . . . Read the next poem; Despair