LITMIR.BIZ

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      Are an outcome of suppressed realities

      That hardly rise into material day:

      They are born from the spirit’s sun of hidden powers

      Digging a tunnel through emergency.

      But who shall pierce into the cryptic gulf

      And learn what deep necessity of the soul

      Determined casual deed and consequence?

      Absorbed in a routine of daily acts,

      Our eyes are fixed on an external scene;

      We hear the crash of the wheels of Circumstance

      And wonder at the hidden cause of things.

      Yet a foreseeing Knowledge might be ours,

      If we could take our spirit’s stand within,

      If we could hear the muffled daemon voice.

      Too seldom is the shadow of what must come

      Cast in an instant on the secret sense

      Which feels the shock of the invisible,

      And seldom in the few who answer give

      The mighty process of the cosmic Will

      Communicates its image to our sight,

      Identifying the world’s mind with ours.

      Our range is fixed within the crowded arc

      Of what we observe and touch and thought can guess

      And rarely dawns the light of the Unknown

      Waking in us the prophet and the seer.

      The outward and the immediate are our field,

      The dead past is our background and support;

      Mind keeps the soul prisoner, we are slaves to our acts;

      We cannot free our gaze to reach wisdom’s sun.

      Inheritor of the brief animal mind,

      Man, still a child in Nature’s mighty hands,

      In the succession of the moments lives;

      To a changing present is his narrow right;

      His memory stares back at a phantom past,

      The future flees before him as he moves;

      He sees imagined garments, not a face.

      Armed with a limited precarious strength,

      He saves his fruits of work from adverse chance.

      A struggling ignorance is his wisdom’s mate:

      He waits to see the consequence of his acts,

      He waits to weigh the certitude of his thoughts,

      He knows not what he shall achieve or when;

      He knows not whether at last he shall survive,

      Or end like the mastodon and the sloth

      And perish from the earth where he was king.

      He is ignorant of the meaning of his life,

      He is ignorant of his high and splendid fate.

      Only the Immortals on their deathless heights

      Dwelling beyond the walls of Time and Space,

      Masters of living, free from the bonds of Thought,

      Who are overseers of Fate and Chance and Will

      And experts of the theorem of world-need,

      Can see the Idea, the Might that change Time’s course,

      Come maned with light from undiscovered worlds,

      Hear, while the world toils on with its deep blind heart,

      The galloping hooves of the unforeseen event,

      Bearing the superhuman Rider, near

      And, impassive to earth’s din and startled cry,

      Return to the silence of the hills of God;

      As lightning leaps, as thunder sweeps, they pass

      And leave their mark on the trampled breast of Life.

      Above the world the world-creators stand,

      In the phenomenon see its mystic source.

      These heed not the deceiving outward play,

      They turn not to the moment’s busy tramp,

      But listen with the still patience of the Unborn

      For the slow footsteps of far Destiny

      Approaching through huge distances of Time,

      Unmarked by the eye that sees effect and cause,

      Unheard mid the clamour of the human plane.

      Attentive to an unseen Truth they seize

      A sound as of invisible augur wings,

      Voices of an unplumbed significance,

      Mutterings that brood in the core of Matter’s sleep.

      In the heart’s profound audition they can catch

      The murmurs lost by Life’s uncaring ear,

      A prophet-speech in Thought’s omniscient trance.

      Above the illusion of the hopes that pass,

      Behind the appearance and the overt act,

      Behind this clock-work Chance and vague surmise,

      Amid the wrestle of force, the trampling feet,

      Across the cries of anguish and of joy,

      Across the triumph, fighting and despair,

      They watch the Bliss for which earth’s heart has cried

      On the long road which cannot see its end

      Winding undetected through the sceptic days

      And to meet it guide the unheedful moving world.

      Thus will the masked Transcendent mount his throne.

      When darkness deepens strangling the earth’s breast

      And man’s corporeal mind is the only lamp,

      As a thief’s in the night shall be the covert tread

      Of one who steps unseen into his house.

      A Voice ill-heard shall speak, the soul obey,

      A Power into mind’s inner chamber steal,

      A charm and sweetness open life’s closed doors

      And beauty conquer the resisting world,

      The Truth-Light capture Nature by surprise,

      A stealth of God compel the heart to bliss

      And earth grow unexpectedly divine.

      In Matter shall be lit the spirit’s glow,

      In body and body kindled the sacred birth;

      Night shall awake to the anthem of the stars,

      The days become a happy pilgrim march,

      Our will a force of the Eternal’s power,

      And thought the rays of a spiritual sun.

      A few shall see what none yet understands;

      God shall grow up while the wise men talk and sleep;

      For man shall not know the coming till its hour

      And belief shall be not till the work

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