Thought is truth's echo—not her glorious eyes

Beholding God, nor her white arms of light,

Lifted in worship. Following truth, our flight

At highest range is where our echo dies.

Oh all your power and beauty, earth and skys!

And, Soul and Mind! your Beauty and your Might—

Truth gathers in one flash and, catching sight

Of God, lifts high in love's full sacrifice.

Twixt Truth and Thought, what Truth is oft is space

Wherein, with intuition for her wing,

The soul mounts. It is there I hear her sing:

"Lo, Truth, so swift aloft, Thought dies in chase,

Turns earthward, and the gifts her white arms bring,

Are outshone by God's glory in her face!"