Image of God I know thee--God thyself. Walking the world on India’s sun-parched plains Thy name was Rama; thou in desert sands Of Araby didst dream thy wondrous dream; The cradles of all races thou hast seen-- Thou Zarathustra--thou the Son of Man! I know the wounds of hands and feet and side.... Ah, and I know the ring about thy neck Of ruddy curls! Say, Judas, in thine ear Make they sweet music still, the silver coins, As on the day the temple’s veil was rent? So, in the far-stretched background of all time I watch thy progress through the sounding years-- Wielding the sceptre here, and there the lyre, The lord or servant of thy master-passion, Pure or polluted, fool or nobly wise. And this it is that justifies the whole, This is thy greatness: thou hast stumbled oft, And straying often fallen. Yet all the while, Wandering the stony wilderness of life, Thine eyes were fixed upon the steadfast star That far-off stands above the Promised Land. Rough is the road, beset by mocking heavens And false illusory hells--the strong, the weak Alike by dancing fires are led astray, And poisoned flowers bloom rankly on the path. Self in the guise of selfishness approached, Frailty in garment of a god benign; Pleasure with lying accents “I am sin” Proclaimed, and vice, “I am bold action” cried; “I am contentment,” spoke the belly full, And the applause of groundlings, “I am fame.” And so it came that only here and there In all the years a strong, unerring one Plucked boldly at the flowers of brief delight, Yet by the dust of tumult unconfused Pressed on to reach the goal; the strong man’s goal: To rule and to enjoy, to hold command Over both’ things and spirits, to enjoy All pleasant sounds and all sweet gifts, yet strive Untiring, ever upward to that sun Which no world-master’s blind despotic will, But his own hand, with more than Titan strength, Unto the utmost firmament has flung. INHIBITION _To My Parents_ O for the blithesomeness of birds Whose soul floods ever to their tongue! But to be impotent of words With blinding tears and heart unstrung! Each breeze that blows from homeward brings To me who am so far away The memory of tender things I might have said and did not say. Like spirit children, wraiths unborn To luckless lovers long ago, Shades of emotion, mute, forlorn, Within my brain stalk to and fro. When to my lips they rush, and call, A nameless something rears its head, Forbidding, like the spectral wall Between the living and the dead. O guardian of the nether mind Where atavistic terrors reel In dark cerebral chambers bind Old nightmares with thy mystic seal! But bar not from the sonant gate Of being with thy fiery sword The sweetest thing we wring from fate: Love’s one imperishable word! THE PROTOZOAN (_A Chant of Immortality_)