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A wanderer in a world his thoughts have made, He turns in a chiaroscuro of error and truth To find a wisdom that on high is his.

Our life is a paradox with God for key.

The Spirit, the innumerable One, He has left behind his lone eternity, He is an endless birth in endless Time, Her finite's multitude in an infinite Space.

This grand surrender is his free-will's gift, His pure transcendent force submits to hers.

There are Two who are One and play in many worlds

All here where each thing seems its lonely self Are figures of the sole transcendent One: Only by him they are, his breath is their life; An unseen Presence moulds the oblivious clay.

The immortal sees not as we vainly see. He looks on hidden aspects and screened powers, He knows the law and natural line of things.

A deep surrender is their source of might, A still identity their way to know, Motionless is their action like a sleep.

A few shall see what none yet understands; God shall grow up while the wise men talk and sleep; For man shall not know the coming till its hour And belief shall be not till the work is done.