So we are fashioned, worst and best of us,

That common things are common,

That the sun-rise is the first of day,

That evening goes it's usual way,

And is - an evening, not the sum

Of all the far too oft-repeated glories

Of the hours from sun.

Yet these things come;

We see, yet do not see, these ways.

Be it for me to see and sing

The glories of the common thing;

To see in all the hours of all the days

A fresh new glory - more than this,

To startle the dull accustomed ear and eye

By strange nre words and melody,

To seeing the thing I see:

Beauty and glory in the commonplace and usual.