Ever we chase Thee through the years Across the fields of destiny, Or hobbled by our hopes and fears Stumble on towards entropy,
Visionless, profess to know The meaning of our sojourn here, The candles of our minds aglow In reason's stifling atmosphere.
The touchstone of the soul we need To separate the dross from gold, A soil in which to plant the seed, A flame of faith that shall uphold
The spirit's quest upon our earth, As nearer draws the Godhead's birth.
Poems Undated (1727)
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