But little did the infant dream
  That all the treasures of the world were by;
    And that himself was so the cream
  And crown of all which round about did lie. 
    Yet thus it was:  the Gem,
          The Diadem,
        The ring enclosing all
    That stood upon this earthly ball,
        The heavenly Eye,
      Much wider than the sky
        Wherein they all included were,
      The glorious soul that was the King,
        Made to possess them, did appear
          A small and little thing!

We may safely go some way even beyond this, and lay it down for unchallengeable truth that over and above Man’s consciousness of being the eye of the Universe and receptacle, however imperfect, of its great harmony, he has a native impulse to merge himself in that harmony and be one with it:  a spirit in his heart (as the Scripture puts it) “of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father”—­And because ye are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father. In his daily life he is for ever seeking after harmony in avoidance of chaos, cultivating personal habits after the clock; in his civic life forming governments, attempting hierarchies, laws, constitutions, by which (as he hopes) a system of society will work in tune, almost automatically.  When he fights he has learnt that his fighting men shall march in rhythm and deploy rhythmically, and they do so to regimental music.  If he haul rope or weigh anchor, setting out to sea, or haul up his ship on a beach, he has proved by experiment that these operations are performed more than twice as easily when done to a tune.  But these are dull, less than half-conscious, imitations of the great harmony for which, when he starts out to understand and interpret it consciously, he must use the most godlike of all his gifts.  Now the most godlike of all human gifts—­the singular gift separating Man from the brutes—­is speech.  If he can harmonise speech he has taught his first and peculiar faculty to obey the great rhythm:  “I will sing and give praise,” says the Psalmist, “with the best member that I have.”  Thus by harmonising speech (in a fashion we will discuss by and by), he arrives at Poetry.

* * * * *

But an objection may be raised. “Is the tongue, rather than the brain, the best member that I have?” or (to put it in another way), “Surely a man’s thoughts about the Universe have more value than his words about it?”

The answer is, that we cannot separate them:  and Newman has put this so cogently that I must quote him, making no attempt to water down his argument with words of my own.  “Thought and speech are inseparable from one another.  Matter and expression are parts of one:  style is a thinking out into language.  This is literature; not things, but the verbal symbols of things; not on the other