Unnamed be HE from whom creation came;
There is no word whereby to speak His name
But petty men have mouthed it into shame.
I lift mine eyes, and with a river’s force
My love’s full tide goes sweeping on its course
To that supreme and all embracing Source.
Then back through all those thirsting channels roll
The mighty billows of the Over Soul.
And I am He, the portion and the Whole.
As little streams before the flood tide flee,
As rivers vanish to become the sea,
The I exists no more, for I AM HE.
The Word.
OH, a word is a gem, or a stone, or a song,
Or a flame, or a two-edged sword;
Or a rose in bloom, or a sweet perfume,
Or a drop of gall, is a word.
You may choose your word like a connoisseur,
And polish it up with art,
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,
Is the word that comes from the heart.
You may work on your word a thousand weeks,
But it will not glow like one
That all unsought, leaps forth white hot,
When the fountains of feeling run.
You may hammer away on the anvil of thought,
And fashion your word with care,
But unless you are stirred to the depths, that word
Shall die on the empty air.
For the word that comes from the brain alone,
Alone to the brain will speed;
But the word that sways, and stirs, and stays,
Oh! that is the word men heed.