 | Reuben and Other Poems |  |
THE MYSTERY OF THOUGHT.
How is it? Does the Will our thoughts create,
Or only stir the latent seeds to grow?
Or do we but dispose the brain and wait
The unknown inward flow?
Or only stir the latent seeds to grow?
Or do we but dispose the brain and wait
The unknown inward flow?
We may not tell unless by what we feel;
And who shall say his thoughts can be constrain'd?
Or that he did more service than reveal
The thought by thinking gain'd?
And who shall say his thoughts can be constrain'd?
Or that he did more service than reveal
The thought by thinking gain'd?
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Earth gets her wealth of flowers and fruit and grain
All from the unseen world that lies behind.
Earth only is the body and the brain,
The other is the mind.
All from the unseen world that lies behind.
Earth only is the body and the brain,
The other is the mind.
For though with wondrous skill we analyze
Both thought and food when into being brought,
The unknown something in the process flies
That made them food and thought.
Both thought and food when into being brought,
The unknown something in the process flies
That made them food and thought.
Alas, I know not! but when in this night
Of ignorance, where fancy blindly roams,
I turn to the Unseen, and pray for light,
I often find it comes.
Of ignorance, where fancy blindly roams,
I turn to the Unseen, and pray for light,
I often find it comes.
| Reuben and Other Poems | |