A New Beatitude L. G. W.
“A new beatitude I write for thee,
‘Blessed are they who are not sure of things,’
Nor strive to mount on feeble, finite wings
To heights where God’s strong angels, soaring free,
Halt and are silent.” Ah, the mystery!
To-day, O friend, beyond earth’s reckonings
Of time and space, beyond its jars and stings,
Thou enterest where the eternal secrets be!
Ay, thou art sure to-day! No more the bars
Of earth’s poor limitations hold thee back,
Setting their bounds to thine advancing feet.
Soar, lofty soul, beyond the farthest stars,
Where hope nor yearning e’er shall suffer lack,
Nor knowledge fail to any that entreat!