The Equinox (Volume III, Number I)

192 THE EQUINOX Of ever deeper silences, Eons and zons and zeons Of lampless empyréans Darker and deeper and holier, caves Of night unstirred by wind, great graves Of all that is or could ever be In Time or Eternity. Drawn, drawn, inevitably spanned, Tirelessly drawn by some strange hand, Drawn inward in some sense unkenned Beyond all to an appointed end, No end foreseen or hoped, drawn still Beyond word or will Into Itself, drawn subtly, deep Through the dreamless deaths whose shadow is sleep, Drawn, as dawn shows, to the inmost divine, To the temple, the nave, the choir, the shrine, To the altar where in the most holy cup The wine of its blood may be offered up. Nor is it given to any son of man To hymn that Sacrament, the One in Seven, Where God and priest and worshipper, Deacon, asperger, thurifer, chorister, Are one as they were one ere time began, Are one on earth as they are one in heaven; Where the soul is given a new name, Confirming with an oath the same, And with celestial wine and bread Is most delicately fed,