MINE is the shape forever set between The thought and form, the vision and the deed; The hidden light, the glory all unseen, I bring to mortal senses, mortal need. Who loves me not, my sorrowing slave is he, Bent with the burden, knowing oft the rod; But he who loves me shall my master be, And use me with the joyance of a god. Man's lord or servant, still I am his friend; Desire for me is simple as his breath; Yea, waiting, old and patient, for the end, He prays that he may find me after death! |