<p>Worship</p>In the beginning was the rule of sacred kingsWho hallowed field, grain, plow, who handed downThe law of sacrifices, set the boundsTo mortal men forever hungeringFor the Invisible Ones’ just ordinanceThat holds the sun and moon in perfect balanceAnd whose forms in their eternal radianceFeel no suffering, nor know death’s ambience.Long ago the sons of the gods, the sacred line,Passed, and mankind remained alone,Embroiled in pleasure and pain, cut off from being,Condemned to change unhallowed, unconfined.But intimations of the true life never died,And it is for us, in this time of harmTo keep, in metaphor and symbol and in psalm,Reminders of that former sacred reverence.Perhaps some day the darkness will be banned,Perhaps some day the times will turn about,The sun will once more rule us as our godAnd take the sacrifices from our hands.<p>Soap Bubbles</p>From years of study and of contemplationAn old man brews a work of clarity,A gay and involuted dissertationDiscoursing on sweet wisdom playfully.An eager student bent on storming heightsHas delved in archives and in libraries,But adds the touch of genius when he writesA first book full of deepest subtleties.A boy, with bowl and straw, sits and blows,Filling with breath the bubbles from the bowl.Each praises like a hymn, and each one glows;Into the filmy beads he blows his soul.Old man, student, boy, all these threeOut of the Maya-foam of the universeCreate illusions. None is better or worse.But in each of them the Light of EternitySees its reflection, and burns more joyfully.<p>After Dipping Into the “Summa Contra Gentiles”</p>
