 | The lion's cub |  |
22
HE KNOWS.
The temple that I frequent most,
Has, for its dome, the turquoise sky,
On unseen pillars lifted up.
I sell my holy rosary
Strung with His Names, nor count it lost,
So that it gains enough to buy
The Wine that fills Creation's Cup.
Has, for its dome, the turquoise sky,
On unseen pillars lifted up.
I sell my holy rosary
Strung with His Names, nor count it lost,
So that it gains enough to buy
The Wine that fills Creation's Cup.
I turn—such might to me belongs—
Austerest prayers to sweetest songs;
I make—such spells I cast around—
The whole, wide world enchanted ground.
Wisdom Supreme, the Earth is thine,
The Cup, whereof Thou art the Wine,
The light, the shade that ebbs and flows,
Whatever comes, whatever goes,
All things begin and end in Thee.
Whence leads the path of destiny?
I know not. But He knows—He knows.
Austerest prayers to sweetest songs;
I make—such spells I cast around—
The whole, wide world enchanted ground.
Wisdom Supreme, the Earth is thine,
The Cup, whereof Thou art the Wine,
The light, the shade that ebbs and flows,
Whatever comes, whatever goes,
All things begin and end in Thee.
Whence leads the path of destiny?
I know not. But He knows—He knows.
| The lion's cub | |