Lo all-pervading Unity is His;
Lo all-pervading Unity is He:
One mighty heart throbs in the earth and sea,
In every star through heaven’s immensity,
And God in all things breathes, in all things is.
God’s perfect order rules the vast expanse,
And Love is queen and all the realms are hers;
But strike one planet from the Universe
And all is chaos and unbridled chance.
And is there life beyond this life below?
Aye, is death death?—or but a happy change
From night to light—on angel wings to range,
And sing the songs of seraphs as we go?
Alas, the more we know the less we know we know.
God hath laid down the limits we cannot pass;
And it is well he giveth us no glass
Wherewith to see beyond the present glance,
Else we might die a thousand deaths perchance
Before we lay our bones beneath the grass.
What is the soul, and whither will it fly?
We only know that matter cannot die,
But lives and lived through all eternity,
And ever turns from hoary age to youth.
And is the soul not worthier than the dust?
So in His providence we put our trust;
And so we humbly hope, for God is just—
Father all-wise, unmoved by wrath or ruth:
What then is certain—what eternal? Truth,
Almighty God, Time, Space and Cosmic Dust.
LOVE WILL FIND
Seek ye the fairest lily of the field,
The fairest lotus that in lakelet lies,
The fairest rose that ever morn revealed,
And Love will find—from other eyes concealed—
A fairer flower in some fair woman’s eyes.
List ye the lark that warbles to the morn,
The sweetest note that linnet ever sung,
Or trembling lute in tune with silver horn,
And Love will list—and laugh your lute to scorn—
A sweeter lute in some fair woman’s tongue.
Seek ye the dewy perfume seaward blown
From flowering orange-groves to passing ships;
Nay, sip the nectared dew of Helicon,
And Love will find—and claim it all his own—
A sweeter dew on some fair woman’s lips.
Seek ye a couch of softest eider-down,
The silken floss that baby birdling warms,
Or shaded moss with blushing roses strown,
And Love will find—when they are all alone—
A softer couch in some fair woman’s arms.
AN OLD ENGLISH OAK
Silence is the voice of mighty things.
In silence dropped the acorn in the rain;
In silence slept till sun-touched. Wondrous life
Peeped from the mold and oped its eyes on morn.
Up-grew in silence through a thousand years
The Titan-armed, gnarl-jointed, rugged oak,
Rock-rooted. Through his beard and shaggy locks
Soft breezes sung and tempests roared: the rain
A thousand summers trickled down his beard;