I Cannot Count The Pebbles In The Brook. Well Hath He Spoken: 'Swear Not By Thy Head, Thou Knowest Not The Hairs,' Though He, We Read, Writes That Wild Number In His Own Strange Book. I Cannot Count The Sands Or Search The Seas, Death Cometh, And I Leave So Much Untrod. Grant My Immortal Aureole, O My God, And I Will Name The Leaves Upon The Trees. In Heaven I Shall Stand On Gold And Glass, Still Brooding Earth'S Arithmetic To Spell; Or See The Fading Of The Fires Of Hell Ere I Have Thanked My God For All The Grass.