WHAT Truths hath gleaned that Sage consumed by many a moon that waxt and waned?
What Prophet-strain be his to sing? What hath his old Experience gained?

There is no God, no man-made God; a bigger, stronger, crueller man;
Black phantom of our baby-fears, ere Thought, the life of Life, began.

Right quoth the Hindu Prince of old,* “An Ishwara for one I nill,
Th’ almighty everlasting Good who cannot ’bate th’ Eternal Ill:”

“Your gods may be, what shows they are?” hear China’s Perfect Sage declare;*
“And being, what to us be they who dwell so darkly and so far?”