What points ascending Nature to her goal?

’Tis not man’s lame transcribing intellect

With its carved figures rigid and erect

But the far subtle vision of his soul.

His instruments have served his weakness well

But they must change to tread the paths of Fire

That lead through his calm self immeasurable

To the last rapture’s incandescent spire.

The spirit keeps for him its ample ways,

A sense that takes the world into our being,

A close illumined touch and intimate seeing,

Wide Thought that is a god’s ensphering gaze,

A tranquil heart in sympathy with all,

A will wide-winging, armed, imperial.