I do not know, I cannot even guess With what strange spirit-gift these men are dowered Who now desire to find a bridge to us. But still I know well several honest men Within the ranks of this same Spirit-League. Strictly they guard the secret of the fount Whence this their knowledge is supposed to come; But that the fountain whence they drink is good, Their life and deeds make manifest to all. And all that from their circle issues forth Bears on its face the mark of truest love. So may we well believe the aim is good Which leads them in this special way to men, To whom the mystic path is strange and new, But in whose souls the instinct for the truth And honest goals of spirit-life find place. BERNARD STRAIGHT: Caution would seem to me our duty now. I think the mystics find the time draws nigh Which brings an ending to their sovereign power. Reason will scarcely ask in future times What dreams of truth these holy temples had. If this league tells of goals of such a kind As have seemed wise to mankind's general thought Then it were good to join our lot to theirs. Yet he had better shun the mystic's robe Who only seeks to pass the portal by, Which, like some barrier of heavenly light, Shuts out his present life from other worlds. For in that world 'twill be of small account What value each shall put upon himself. No higher value shall each one receive Than universal judgment granteth him. FRANCESCA HUMBLE: So much that here I needs must listen to Sounds like the words of those poor blinded men Who cannot see the noble spirit-light Which streams from every consecrated shrine In rays of wisdom to the outer world To comfort and to heal the souls of men. He only in whose heart this light doth shine, And pierce with warming glow his inmost soul Can recognize the true worth of this hour, Which opens up the mystic's solemn realm Even to those who feel themselves too weak To reach, through deep soul struggle, to the high And consecrate abodes of spirit-light. MARY STEADFAST: