Page:Poems·from·the·Port·Hills-Blanche·Edith·Baughan-1923.pdf/38

 Ay, God! Perfection! Spirit! name as we will Thee Whom our highest name Can but defame— Soul of all souls, All-Source, All-Satisfaction, To Thee, to Thee, ever we break through still! In Whom both Man and Nature live and move And have their being; in Whom men think and love, Struggle and choose and aim; in Whom Stars come and go, winds drive, and violets bloom. Purport of all! ’tis Thou the Power still art Of each Thy separate part; For Thee, in Thee, they run together, subsume More of Thy Life, and with Thy Light illume The shining body and soul of this Earth-Star, One of Thy Thoughts express’d, One Word made manifest. —O, how much more! in Thee continuing far, Her double note with what all-resonant Chord, Hark! goes on choiring—O, behold how bright Her colours, in Thee mounting, smitten are To what white Light! In Thy proceeding Poem stands this Word, Thou, Thinker, through this Thought, art thinking on— O, Man, and Nature and Earth, I see all gone On! past themselves—all fused With all, and yet all free! Their utmost powers used, Their lives not lost, but loos’d, In union, Universal Life, with Thee!

Come down with me, my soul! let us go down Freely to bondage, and contented stay