Excerpt from The Modernists

O Light of all the world! Strange cosmic glow
That lit the mind of Buddha brooding long,
Burned in the bush of Horeb, touched the strong,
Pure heart of Homer and, with sudden flow,
Spilled splendour on the prophets in the throe
Of great words uttered at the ancient wrong,
Moved unto thunder-cadences of song,
Ages ere Christ was crowned the King of woe.

Man on the scarlet peak of morning stands
With face uplifted to the mounting gleam
That draws him ever onward to one goal,
Thou art the impulse of his eager hands,
The inspiration of his eyes that dream,
The infinite constraining of his soul.

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