Or in love's stillness, high above the strife,
We found our spirits strangely catching fire,
And told of that " unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of the buried life."
He knows its secret now; the morning mist
Drifts up the road where his last footprint lies;
And I, as ever when a Christ-man dies,
Stand awe-struck, asking, "Was not this the
Christ?"
His soul craved God. I think we always knew