Classic Poem

Man is not dust, man is not dust, I say!
A lightning substance through his being runs;
A flame he knows not of illumes his clay —
The cosmic fire that feeds the swarming suns.
As giant worlds, sent spinning into space,
Hold in their center still the parent flame;
So man, within that undiscovered place —
His center — stores the light from which he came.

Think of the radiant energy that lies
Hoarded in secret chambers of the earth;
Think of the marvels drawn from out the skies —
Light, beauty, power, of electric birth.
Then what of man, who is himself a world;
Into whose being conscious forces pour?
Since from the central sun his soul was hurled,
What of the glory thundering at his core?

Man is not flesh; man is not flesh, but fire!
His senses cheat him and his vision lies.
Swifter and keener than his soul's desire,
The flame that mothers him eludes his eyes.
Pulsing beneath all bodies, ere begun;
Flashing and thrilling close behind the screen,
A sacred substance, blinding as the sun,
Yearns for man's recognition in the seen.

We walk blindfolded in a world of light —
We could touch hands with angels, if we would;
Could, with a single utterance of might,
Commune with a celestial brotherhood.
So sheer the veil, one thrust of faith could rend
The vast illusion of our erring sense;
The facts we fear, the shapes we comprehend,
Are but the flimsiest tissues of pretense!

The times are anguished, for man feels the press
Of his divinity; through travail pains
The urge is goading him till he confess
The splendor that is crying through his veins
Uncover, man! Thy heaven self is gold.
Gladden the eyes of Him who made thee good
In that first morning when the worlds were told
And Primal Word pronounced thine angelhood!

Dust! Why, the Future laughs at our dull sight;
Laughs at the judgment linking man to sod —
Damning him ever with decay and blight
When at his center burns the blaze of God!
The Force that flung the far suns into space
Pushes and throbs through an eternal plan;
The Mind that chains the singing stars in place
Implores fulfilment in the soul of man.

O God, give us the whirlwind vision! Let us see,
Clear-eyed, that flame creation we call earth,
And man, the shining image, like to Thee.
Let the new age come swiftly to the birth,
When this — Thy world — shall know itself divine;
And mortals, waking from their dream of sense,
Shall ask no proof, no message, and no sign —
Man's larger sight the unanswerable evidence!