What hard, bright Spirit sits beyond the stars,
On what high seat beyond the round of space?
With what benignant, what pernicious face
Views he the bloods the laughter, and the scars?

We may not reach beyond our prison bars.
He will not bend to touch us in our place.
We can but lift our heads and strive to trace
His handiwork in what he makes or mars.

Nay, imperturbable, with other wars
Engaged than ours, 'I set you in your ways
Of old,' he says; 'prate to me not nor praise,
But build what joy you may behind your bars.'

In the cold light of evening, or of thought,
Basalt and adamant he seems with aught
More hard, more cold, than ice or emerald;
Who says, 'I have not heard of heaven or hell';
Benign, pernicious, imperturbable,
'I Am' alike by Greek and Hebrew called.