Drifting in space, the thought awaits the call to be
As another day breaks & a star falls, a child is born
But man is reborn when he discovers his spiritual self;
then comes slow germination of the thought within
It grows, as the breath of life, rousing the heavy stature of
inert matter, lightening & lifting the body into action...
Until, machine-like, it moves of its own accord: Wherever
intelligence seeks, the pure elements of meaning shine revealed
Use polishes the sharp point of intelligence; as an arrow,
it speeds direct through the night...
Straight on, through the encompassing gloom & unknown dangers,
above & beyond the great void itself...
...& music, like an ever-recurring gift, swells & fills the air
From the common stuff of earth all things are made;
but the very perfection of pure form is dazzling to the eyes of its creator
Those who worship idols come to resemble them: so with us, if we make a machine our
idol, we shall become machines.
The means man harnessed for his ends will cheat him of realisation, & bring him down
The truths of discovery & the fruits of labour will be lost
in the crowd & dissipated in the surge of a great current
But for the man who labours to escape
the common shackles there is this reward:-
He will become the master of his chariot & guide it to more spacious days,
towards that city of the future to be built on plans of justice
And, when death comes & he has left his body on these shores
He will enter the home fashioned by his own hands,
while on earth - a dwelling place in eternity