The dumb Inconscient drew life’s stumbling maze;

A night of all things, packed and infinite,

It made our consciousness a torch that plays

Between the abyss and a supernal Light;

It framed our mind a lens of segment sight,

Piecing out inch by inch the world’s huge mass,

And reason a small hard theodolite

Measuring unreally the measureless ways.

Yet is the dark Inconscient whence come all,

The self-same Power that shines on high unwon;

Our night shall be a sky purpureal,

The torch transmute to a vast godhead’s sun.

Man is a narrow bridge, a call that grows,

His soul the dim bud of God’s flaming rose.