C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
To the Unknown God
By Arthur Hugh Clough (1819–1861)
O T
Of human spirits dwells divine;
Which from that precinct once conveyed,
To be to outer day displayed,
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which willful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again!
Dost dwell, unknown because divine!
I thought to speak, I thought to say,
“The light is here,”—“Behold the way,”—
“The voice was thus,”—and “Thus the word,”—
And “Thus I saw,”—and “That I heard,”—
But from the lips that half assayed
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.
Enthroned, as I must say, divine!
I will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.
I will not prate of “thus” and “so,”
And be profane with “yes” and “no”;
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatsoe’er Thou may’st be, art.
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day to place Thee there;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women say Thee thus and then:
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her Thou didst appear.
Unknown or known, remain, divine;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies,
The hand to sway, the judgment guide,
In sight and sense Thyself divide:
Be Thou but there, in soul and heart,—
I will not ask to feel Thou art.