THE CONTINUING CITY

by: Laurence Housman (1865-1959)

OD, who made man out of dust,

Willed him to be

Not to known ends, but to trust

His decree.

 

This is our city, a soul

Walled within clay;

Separate hearts of one whole,

Bound we obey.

 

All that He meant us to be,

Could we discern,--

Life had no meaning,--or we

Had not to learn.

 

Thou, beloved, doubt not the truth

Eyesight makes dim!

All life, to age from youth,

Brings us to Him:

 

Him Whom thou hast not seen,

Canst not yet know:

Human hearts stand between,

His to foreshow.

 

Couldst thou possess thine own,

That were the key;

He, to Whom hearts are known,

Keeps it from thee.

 

Thou all thy days must live,

Thyself the quest;

Plucking the heart to give

From thine own breast.

 

Till thou, from other eyes,

At kindred calls,

Seest thine own towers arise,

And thine own walls,--

 

Where, conquering the wide air,

Peopling its waste,

Citadels everywhere

Like stars stand based:

 

Losing thy soul, thy soul

Again to find;

Rendering toward that goal

Thy separate mind.

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