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THE HUMAN SOUL.
Here, as a dweller of these tropic climes,Deprived of Revelation's clearer lightTo tell thee of the true and only God,Yet from the dim vague mem'ries of thy birth,And from thy intuitions strong and deep,Thy thought pow'rs strange yet grand conceptions wrought.The muse of History unrolls her scroll;And, gazing on its mystic page, we traceThese strange bright offsprings of primordial thought. And who this Being pure, the Infinite?First substance, plunged in slumber deep divine,Existence wrapped in shadows luminous?Yet, waking from this slumber, speaks the word,And all creation into being springs.To India's clime the muse of Hist'ry turns,And says to us, "Behold their deity."Philosophy and science here unfold,All wrapped in these primordial forms of thought. But in the past we may not linger long;And farther gaze along the mystic page.Taiki—the summit great, what means this name?'Tis Reason primitive, whence all proceeds;And all creation on this summit rests.Where had this thought its birth? To China's landWe turn. The muse with smile confirms our thought.What great thought, Persia, found with thee its home?
