Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/26

Before thy triple form they wondering bow,
Maker, preserver, and destroyer, Thou!
Thou, when a longing urged thee to create,
Thy single form in twain didst separate;
The Sire, the Mother that made all things be
By their first union were but parts of Thee;
From them the life that fills this earthly frame,
And fruitful Nature, self-renewing, came.
Thou countest not thy time by mortals' light.
With Thee there is but one vast day and night;
When Brahma slumbers fainting Nature dies,
When Brahma wakens all again arise.
Creator of the world—Thou uncreate!
Endless! all things from Thee their end await;
Before the world wast Thou!—each Lord shall fall
Before Thee, mightiest, highest, Lord of all;
Thy self-taught soul thine own deep spirit knows,
Made by thyself thy mighty form arose;
Into the same, when all things have their end.
Shall thy great self, absorbed in Thee, descend;
Lord, who may hope thy essence to declare?
Firm, yet as subtile as the yielding air—
Fixt, all-pervading; ponderous, yet light.
Patent to all, yet hidden from the sight.
Thine are the sacred hymns which mortals raise,
Commencing ever with the word of praise.
With three-toned chant to grace the sacrifice,
And lead the worshipper to Paradise;
They hail Thee Nature labouring to free
The immortal Soul from low humanity—
Hail Thee the stranger Spirit, unimpressed,
Gazing on Nature from thy lofty rest.