![]() | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | ![]() |
Mansoul.
From THINE High Infiníte Abiding-Place!
O, ALL-FATHER in Heaven; by WHOM all things consist:
Hear our souls'lowing, towards Thy Throne of Grace.
To Thee, we men, contínually uplift;
Weak fleshly adoring hands, from lowly dust.
Voices.
THOU, Who mádest us thús; beseech thee, succour us!
Nor if blínd we stumble, ímpute guilt to us.
Mansoul.
Like to thick mist, ascendeth wíthout cease;
Vast Sigh, of all Mans Families of the Earth.
Voices.
Which yet be gropers, ín Worlds dawnless dusk.
We be, as who would sound a soundless Deep . . .
Mansoul.
The Counsel of Heaven is hídden, from hearts of flesh.
Voice.
If there aught be, beyond Mans Reasons reach . . .?
Mansoul.
We thereto accede, by Faith, and nót by Sight.
Voices.
Who lives, hath found aught footstep óf the Gods;
Or haply heard, o'er water or by land;
A divine Voice! This reeling Earthly Round
Whereon be we embarked, grows old with us.
And eách succeeding Age, more hapless swarms;
Offspring of human loins, to Light, brings forth:
In évery Pale of Land, from East to West;
To travail of their hands, with thirst of heart:
And death in Darkness, Lifes short sufferance past.
Other Voices.
Can it be, that thát we mortals Reason call;
A Párcel is ónly of Dívine ínfinite Truth:
Like blot, which díms all-brightness of Suns Face?
Mansoul.
From THINE High Infiníte Abiding-Place!
120
Hear our souls'lowing, towards Thy Throne of Grace.
To Thee, we men, contínually uplift;
Weak fleshly adoring hands, from lowly dust.
Voices.
THOU, Who mádest us thús; beseech thee, succour us!
Nor if blínd we stumble, ímpute guilt to us.
Mansoul.
Like to thick mist, ascendeth wíthout cease;
Vast Sigh, of all Mans Families of the Earth.
Voices.
Which yet be gropers, ín Worlds dawnless dusk.
We be, as who would sound a soundless Deep . . .
Mansoul.
The Counsel of Heaven is hídden, from hearts of flesh.
Voice.
If there aught be, beyond Mans Reasons reach . . .?
Mansoul.
We thereto accede, by Faith, and nót by Sight.
Voices.
Who lives, hath found aught footstep óf the Gods;
Or haply heard, o'er water or by land;
121
Whereon be we embarked, grows old with us.
And eách succeeding Age, more hapless swarms;
Offspring of human loins, to Light, brings forth:
In évery Pale of Land, from East to West;
To travail of their hands, with thirst of heart:
And death in Darkness, Lifes short sufferance past.
Other Voices.
Can it be, that thát we mortals Reason call;
A Párcel is ónly of Dívine ínfinite Truth:
Like blot, which díms all-brightness of Suns Face?
Mansoul.
There come is látely untó mens hands, a Book;
A Book of Truth, which none can contradict;
Sith Heavens High Fíngeritháth bóth wrought and writ.
The Annals of this Old Terrestrial Mass;
Wíth the affections of Her Elements:
And Knowledge of High Infinite Universe.
A Book of Truth, which none can contradict;
Sith Heavens High Fíngeritháth bóth wrought and writ.
The Annals of this Old Terrestrial Mass;
Wíth the affections of Her Elements:
And Knowledge of High Infinite Universe.
Now, partly unsealed, it open lies before us:
Wherein may souls, that diligently seek;
Learn daily more to read, and gather Light.
Wherein may souls, that diligently seek;
Learn daily more to read, and gather Light.
![]() | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | ![]() |