O, exquisite irony of the Master, there
Unseen by both, their generous rivalry
Evolved, perfected, the new thought for man;
And, over both, and all their thoughts, a Power
Intently watching, made of their struggle for truth
An image of the law that they illumed.
So all that wasting of a myriad seeds
In Nature’s wild profusion was not waste,
Not even such waste as drives the flying grains
Under the sculptor’s chisel, but was itself