The sweep, O heart, of Love's account...

The sweep, O heart, of Love's account . . . . . . . Hearken: "I am of life the Fount; All are within My deeps of Being, The toiling city, the sea, the mount.

"Yea, when thou cleav'st the pillared tree, Raisest the stone, I am with thee; Darkness and light, flux and becoming, Signal My presence, and ceaselessly.

"Regard Me not as though afar; Ope thine heart's eyes, and, lo, My Star Burns 'neath Time's vesture, true Shekinah, Centre and Soul of the things that are."