e and eyes set cold."

THE TRUTH

What is the truth? The focus of all rays
Passing through Nature and the soul and mind.
It is the Sun of Suns, around which wind
The Heavens and all the worlds. Such is its blaze,
That had it not, at intervals, a haze,
Grading both Angel and the Human-kind,
The bright Arch-angel would be stricken blind,
To grope in Heaven, a Homer, sighing lays.

What less could fitly crown Omnipotence
Than Truth, the focus of all rays in Good?
Lo! there it shines upon the Holy Rood,
Breaking through clouds, a-massing dark and dense
From countless ages, Cains to Brotherhood--
With rays of pardon for the World's offense.

OUR LORD'S LAST PRAYER

"Forgive them, Sire! They know not what they do."--
Ah, Christ! how at that face to face God-plea,
The Demon and his legions, mocking thee
With every generation, brought to view,
Flashed with dismay, and, boltless lightening through
The ages, thunder down Eternity,
'Till faint as the sound in shells, far from the sea;
For that thy prayer would be vouchsafed, they knew.

All grandeurs, gathered as a dazzling crown
For thee, in barter for thy knee's least bend,
The Demon dashed to fragments to Time's end.
There, born anew in spirit, we look down
And, in the ocean of thy prayer, Amen'd,
See but earth's monsters, with the demons drown.

THOUGHT IS TRUTH'S ECHO

Thought is truth's echo--not her glorious eyes
Beholding God, nor her white arms of light,
Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight
At highest range is where our echo dies.
Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys!
And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might--
Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight
Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice.

Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space
Wherein, with intuition for her wing,
The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing:
"Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase,
Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring,
Are outshone by God's glory in her face!"

HEAVEN

Ah, what is Heaven? Such Glory that Sun-light
Seems darkness, and Mass Music, shell-shut sound.
What we call senses here, there so abound,
The soul appears a broadening heaven in flight,
Feathered and downed with all the stars,