Nicholson & Lee, eds. The Oxford Book of English Mystical Verse. 1917.
John Addington Symonds (18401893)167. An Invocation
T
One Life within things infinite that die:
To Him whose unity no thought divides:
Whose breath is breathèd through immensity.
Nor reason, seated in the souls of men,
Though pondering oft on the mysterious word,
Hath e’er revealed His Being to mortal ken.
The seasons come and go, moons wax and wane;
The nations rise and fall, and fill the ground,
Storing the sure results of joy and pain:
From that first man who named the name of heaven,
To him who weighs the planets as they roll,
And knows what laws to every life are given.
Of science still thin ether floats unseen:
Darkness still wraps Him round; and ignorant fear
Remains of what we are, and what have been.
Swift intuitions, pangs of keen delight,
The sudden vision of His glory seems
To sear our souls, dividing the dull night:
These three are one; one life, one thought, one being;
One source of still rejuvenescent youth;
One light for endless and unclouded seeing.
The partial truth that few can comprehend,
The vacillating faith, the painful duty,
The virtue labouring to a dubious end.
Whose being by dim resemblances we guess,
Who in man’s fear and love abidest sure,
Whose power we feel in darkness and confess!
When on Thy substance we gaze curiously:
By Thee impalpable, named Force and Thought,
The solid world still ceases not to be.
All names for Thee alike are vain and hollow—
Lead me, for I will follow without strife;
Or, if I strive, still must I blindly follow.