Poems (Katz)/From mortal sense made free
FROM MORTAL SENSE MADE FREE
Restless, ill at ease, Like hunger ne'er appeased Is the mortal sense of things, And its striving never brings Within our grasp the real and true; It is the higher aim that brings The pure and good to view.
The longing from this miserable self to be free— Toward the dayspring our weary eyes begin to see The rays of risen light Which will lift us from the shadows of the night.