Classic Poem

O God, how dim Thou growest to the sight!
Our faith in Thee doth ever need renewal,
As doth a fire its due supply of fuel—
For both, without, will soon cease to be bright.
And we might deem Thee but a mist o' the brain,
That fadeth in the sunlight of our reason;
But well I know the fault is in our vision,
Which, having had Thee, loseth Thee again—
Our world is full of film, of motes our air;
To keep the vision clear is hard indeed;
Yet they who would see truly, only need
Be free from these—then look, and God is there
A clear eye cannot keep from seeing Him:
When He's unseen, let's know our eyes are dim.