n our eyes is the vision that turns mans soul to flame,
And leads him to exalted loneliness and rebellious prophecy,
And on to crucifixion.
Man is born to bondage,
And in bondage is his honor and his reward.
In man we seek a mouthpiece,
And in his life our self fulfillment.
Whose heart shall echo our voice if the huma is deafened with dust?
Who shall behold our shining if mans eye is blinded with night?
And what would you do with man, child of our earliest heart, our own self image?
Third God
Brothers, my mighty brothers,
The dancers feet are drunk with songs.
They set the air a-throbbing,
And like doves her hands fly upward.
First God
The lark calls to the lark,
But upward the eagle soars,
Nor tarries to hear the song.
You would teach me self love fulfilled in mans worship,
And tent with maude.
But my self love is limitless and without measure.
I would rise beyond my earthbound mortality
And throne me upon the heavens.
My arms woud girdle spad enpass the spheres.
I would take the starry way for a bow,
And the ets for arrows,
And with the infinate would I quer the infinite.
But you would not do this, were it in your power.
For ever as man is to man,
Sods to gods.
Nay, you would bring to my weary heart
Remembrance of cycles spent in mist,
When my soul sought itself among the mountains
And mine eyes pursued their own image in slumbering waters;
Though my yesterday died in child-birth
And only silence visits her womb,
And the wind strewn sales at her breast.
Oh yesterday, dead yesterday,
Mother of my ed divinity,
What super-god caught you in your flight
And made you breed in the cage?
What giant sun warmed your bosom
To give me birth?
I bless you not, yet I would not
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