LITMIR.BIZ

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here on earth shall be

      Is imaged in a contact and a call.

      As yet earth’s imperfection is our sphere,

      Our nature’s glass shows not our real self;

      That greatness still abides held back within.

      Earth’s doubting future hides our heritage:

      The Light now distant shall grow native here,

      The Strength that visits us our comrade power;

      The Ineffable shall find a secret voice,

      The Imperishable burn through Matter’s screen

      Making this mortal body godhead’s robe.

      The Spirit’s greatness is our timeless source

      And it shall be our crown in endless Time.

      A vast Unknown is round us and within;

      All things are wrapped in the dynamic One:

      A subtle link of union joins all life.

      Thus all creation is a single chain:

      We are not left alone in a closed scheme

      Between a driving of inconscient Force

      And an incommunicable Absolute.

      Our life is a spur in a sublime soul-range,

      Our being looks beyond its walls of mind

      And it communicates with greater worlds;

      There are brighter earths and wider heavens than ours.

      There are realms where Being broods in its own depths;

      It feels in its immense dynamic core

      Its nameless, unformed, unborn potencies

      Cry for expression in the unshaped Vast:

      Ineffable beyond Ignorance and death,

      The images of its everlasting Truth

      Look out from a chamber of its self-rapt soul:

      As if to its own inner witness gaze

      The Spirit holds up its mirrored self and works,

      The power and passion of its timeless heart,

      The figures of its formless ecstasy,

      The grandeurs of its multitudinous might.

      Thence comes the mystic substance of our souls

      Into the prodigy of our nature’s birth,

      There is the unfallen height of all we are

      And dateless fount of all we hope to be.

      On every plane the hieratic Power,

      Initiate of unspoken verities,

      Dreams to transcribe and make a part of life

      In its own native style and living tongue

      Some trait of the perfection of the Unborn,

      Some vision seen in the omniscient Light,

      Some far tone of the immortal rhapsodist Voice,

      Some rapture of the all-creating Bliss,

      Some form and plan of the Beauty unutterable.

      Worlds are there nearer to those absolute realms,

      Where the response to Truth is swift and sure

      And spirit is not hampered by its frame

      And hearts by sharp division seized and rent

      And delight and beauty are inhabitants

      And love and sweetness are the law of life.

      A finer substance in a subtler mould

      Embodies the divinity earth but dreams;

      Its strength can overtake joy’s running feet;

      Overleaping the fixed hurdles set by Time,

      The rapid net of an intuitive clasp

      Captures the fugitive happiness we desire.

      A Nature lifted by a larger breath,

      Plastic and passive to the all-shaping Fire,

      Answers the flaming Godhead’s casual touch:

      Immune from our inertia of response

      It hears the word to which our hearts are deaf,

      Adopts the seeing of immortal eyes

      And, traveller on the roads of line and hue,

      Pursues the spirit of beauty to its home.

      Thus we draw near to the All-Wonderful

      Following his rapture in things as sign and guide;

      Beauty is his footprint showing us where he has passed,

      Love is his heart-beats’ rhythm in mortal breasts,

      Happiness the smile on his adorable face.

      A communion of spiritual entities,

      A genius of creative Immanence,

      Makes all creation deeply intimate:

      A fourth dimension of aesthetic sense

      Where all is in ourselves, ourselves in all,

      To the cosmic wideness re-aligns our souls.

      A kindling rapture joins the seer and seen;

      The craftsman and the craft grown inly one

      Achieve perfection by the magic throb

      And passion of their close identity.

      All that we slowly piece from gathered parts,

      Or by long labour stumblingly evolve,

      Is there self-born by its eternal right.

      In us too the intuitive Fire can burn;

      An agent Light, it is coiled in our folded hearts,

      On the celestial levels is its home:

      Descending, it can bring those heavens here.

      But rarely burns the flame nor burns for long;

      The joy it calls from those diviner heights

      Brings brief magnificent reminiscences

      And high splendid glimpses of interpreting thought,

      But not the utter vision and delight.

      A veil is kept, something is still held back,

      Lest, captives of the beauty and the joy,

      Our souls forget to the Highest to aspire.

      In that fair subtle realm behind our own

      The form is all, and physical gods are kings.

      The inspiring Light plays in fine boundaries;

      A faultless beauty comes by Nature’s grace;

      There liberty is perfection’s guarantee:

      Although the absolute Image lacks, the Word

      Incarnate, the sheer spiritual ecstasy,

      All is a miracle of symmetric charm,

      A fantasy of perfect line and rule.

      There all feel satisfied in themselves and whole,

      A rich completeness is by limit made,

      Marvel in an utter littleness abounds,

      An intricate rapture riots in a small space:

      Each

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