Songs of the Spirit

I contemplate myself in that dim sphere Whose hollow centre I am standing at With burning eyes intent to penetrate The black circumference, and find out God— And only see myself. The walls of Space Mock me with silence. What is Life ? The stars Are silent. O ye matchless ministers That daily pass in your appointed ways To reach—we know not what ! How meaningless Your bright assemblage and your steady task Of doubtful motion. And the soul of man Grapples in death-pangs with your mystery, And fails to wrestle down the hard embrace That grips the thighs of thought. And so he dies To pass beyond ye—whither ? To find God ? All my life long I have gazed, and dreamed, and thought, Unless my thought itself were but a dream, A little, troubled dream, a dream of death Whence I may wake—ah, where ? In some new world Where Consciousness doth touch the Infinite, And all the strivings of the soul be found 13