A long dim preparation is man’s life, A circle of toil and hope and war and peace Tracked out by Life on Matter’s obscure ground In his climb to a peak no feet have ever trod, He seeks through a penumbra shot with flame A veiled reality half-known, ever missed, A search for something or someone never found, Cult of an ideal never made real here, An endless spiral of ascent and fall Until at last is reached the giant point Through which his Glory shines for whom we were made And we break into the infinity of God.
