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A mightier task remained than all he had done. To That he turned from which all being comes, A sign attending from the Secrecy Which knows the Truth ungrasped behind our thoughts And guards the world with its all-seeing gaze. In the unapproachable stillness of his soul, Intense, one-pointed, monumental, lone, Patient he sat like an incarnate hope Motionless on a pedestal of prayer. A strength he sought that was not yet on earth, Help from a Power too great for mortal will, The light of a Truth now only seen afar, A sanction from his high omnipotent Source. But from the appalling heights there stooped no voice; The timeless lids were closed; no opening came. A neutral helpless void oppressed the years. In the texture of our bound humanity He felt the stark resistance huge and dumb Of our inconscient and unseeing base, The stubborn mute rejection in life's depths, The ignorant No in the origin of things. A veiled collaboration with the Night Even in himself survived and hid from his view: Still something in his earthly being kept Its kinship with the Inconscient whence it came. A shadowy unity with a vanished past Treasured in an old-world frame was lurking there, Secret, unnoted by the illumined mind, And in subconscious whispers and in dream Still murmured at the mind's and spirit's choice. Its treacherous elements spread like slippery grains 
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