Think not because I do not appear at the first glancebecause the centuries have gone by and there is no assured tidings of methat therefore I am not there.
Think not because all goes its own way that therefore I do not go my own way through all.
The fixed bent of hurrying faces in the streeteach turned towards its own light, seeing no otheryet I am the Light towards which they all look.
The toil of so many hands to such multifarious ends, yet my hand knows the touch and twining of them all.