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THE IDEALIST.
With sure feet walking on the sea
Eternal, uncreate;
Your poise too light to be submerged,
Too firm to dissipate;
Eternal, uncreate;
Your poise too light to be submerged,
Too firm to dissipate;
You heed not barque or fortress;
Engrossed in mystic lore,
You lift your forehead to the sky,
And let life's tempest roar;
Engrossed in mystic lore,
You lift your forehead to the sky,
And let life's tempest roar;
From thorn-wounds on your head outrays
The faith their pain has bought;
Though doubt may dig the body's grave,
No power can kill a thought.
The faith their pain has bought;
Though doubt may dig the body's grave,
No power can kill a thought.
And you, a Thought, incarnate here,
On ministries of Trust,
Must tread the Sacred Way and scorn
To run a race with dust.
On ministries of Trust,
Must tread the Sacred Way and scorn
To run a race with dust.
