Poem: The True Knowledge

Thou knowest all; I seek in vain What lands to till or sow with seed— The land is black with briar and weed, Nor cares for falling tears or rain.

Thou knowest all; I sit and wait With blinded eyes and hands that fail, Till the last lifting of the veil And the first opening of the gate.

Thou knowest all; I cannot see. I trust I shall not live in vain, I know that we shall meet again In some divine eternity.