Thy Mystic Form bends not to our sight,
But gazes within, to know without, who He is.
The Eye beyond the horizon that watches all,
Yet sees nothing of our errors, Only
Nurtures greater deeds in silence.
The iron law of thought
Pounds a beat to the senses
Holds will to ransom for naught
Sees for love a tame shadow in a jar.
The puissant trumpet of light
Rends the beams of matter’s door
And shatters the howl of night.