I sought the court; but smooth-tongued flattery there
Deceived each ear;

I' the thronged city there was selling, buying,
Swearing, and lying;

I' the country, craft in simpleness arrayed,
And then I said,-

"Vain is my search, although my pains be great; Where my God is there can be no deceit."

A scrutiny within myself I then

Even thus began:

“O man, what art thou?" What more could I say Than dust and clay,

Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast,
That cannot last;

Enthroned today, tomorrow in an urn,

Formed from that earth to which I must return?

I asked myself what this great God might be
That fashioned me.

I answered: The all-potent, sole, immense,
Surpassing sense;

Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal,

Lord over all;

The only terrible, strong, just, and true,
Who hath no end, and no beginning knew.

He is the well of life, for he doth give
To all that live

Both breath and being; he is the Creator
Both of the water,

Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that subsist
He hath the list,-

Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims,
He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their names.

And now, my God, by thine illumining grace,
Thy glorious face

(So far forth as it may discovered be)
Methinks I see;

And though invisible and infinite,

To human sight

Thou, in thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest,
In which, to our weak sense, thou comest nearest.

O, make us apt to seek and quick to find,
Thou, God, most kind!

Give us love, hope, and faith, in thee to trust,
Thou, God, most just!

Remit all our offences, we entreat,

Most good! most great!

Grant that our willing, though unworthy quest
May, through thy grace, admit us 'mongst the blest.

THE HILL

HORACE HOLLEY

Be not too certain, life!

(Or is that power of death, that tedious power Which with insistent sneer

Shatters continually and steeps in slime

The difficult house I raise

The house of consciousness?)—

Be not too certain of me;

Deem me not wholly tamed,

Content with labour ineffectual

Upon this ruined house of thought;

Or, turning to things outside,

Content to hurry a life-time through these streets

Darkened with vaster ineffectiveness

Even this sea-flung, sea-swift fog

Makes so pathetic romance of!

Count not too long upon my slavehood!

For as I have often dreamed,

There is a hill

Sloping against the dizzy, mystic sky
Whither, in a moment, I can go.

There is a hill

And, pausing for courageous breath
Pace after pace I'll climb

Fleeing from thee, O insufficient life!
A weak, yet conscious Christ
Bearing his cross of aspiration,
O, bleeding and gasping on that hill
To me the vision of things

Already perfect, consummated present
Sudden will rise, and I shall thrill
With powers you know not of,
Old tedious world of streets,-
Inevitable failure, self-deception
Death-in-life;

For, writhing as I might be
In supreme pain, and broken

Upon the wheel of dissolution,

Never was so great aspiration void;

And I shall wholly triumph

Convinced at last of my own perfect soul,

And God, the soul's desire.

LOST AND FOUND

GEORGE MACDONALD

I missed him when the sun began to bend;
I found him not when I had lost his rim;
With many tears I went in search of him,
Climbing high mountains which did still ascend,
And gave me echoes when I called my friend;
Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim,
And high cathedrals where the light was dim,
Through books and arts and works without an end,
But found him not-the friend whom I had lost.
And yet I found him-as I found the lark,
A sound in fields I heard but could not mark;
I found him nearest when I missed him most;
I found him in my heart, a life in frost,
A light I knew not till my soul was dark.

REVELATION

EDWIN MARKHAM

I made a pilgrimage to find the God:
I listened for His voice at holy tombs,
Searched for the print of His immortal feet
In dust of broken altars: yet turned back
With empty heart. But on the homeward road,
A great light came upon me, and I heard
The God's voice singing in a nestling lark;
Felt his sweet wonder in a swaying rose;
Received his blessing from a wayside well;
Looked on his beauty in a lover's face;
Saw his bright hand send signals from the suns.

CREDO

EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON

I cannot find my way: there is no star
In all the shrouded heavens anywhere;
And there is not a whisper in the air
Of any living voice but one so far
That I can hear it only as a bar

Of lost, imperial music, played when fair
And angel fingers wove, and unaware,
Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.

No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call,

For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,
The black and awful chaos of the night;
For through it all,-above, beyond it all,-
I know the far-sent message of the years,

I feel the coming glory of the Light!

THE UNKNOWN GOD

GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL (A. E.)

Far up the dim twilight fluttered
Moth wings of vapour and flame:
The lights danced over the mountains,
Star after star they came.

The lights grew thicker unheeded,
For silent and still were we;
Our hearts were drunk with a beauty
Our eyes could never see.

WHO BY SEARCHING CAN FIND OUT GOD?

ELIZA SCUDDER

I cannot find Thee! Still on restless pinion
My spirit beats the void where Thou dost dwell;
I wander lost through all Thy vast dominion,
And shrink beneath Thy light ineffable.

I cannot find Thee! Even when most adoring
Before Thy shrine I bend in lowliest prayer,
Beyond these bounds of thought, my thought upsoaring,
From farthest quest comes back: Thou art not there.

Yet high above the limits of my seeing,

And folded far within the inmost heart,

And deep below the deeps of conscious being,
Thy splendor shineth; there, O God, Thou art.

I cannot lose Thee! Still in Thee abiding
The end is clear, how wide so e'er I roam;
The Law that holds the worlds my steps is guiding,
And I must rest at last in Thee, my home.