No man knows his father till he sees
His father in the son upon his knees;
The best way for a man to understand
His father is to hold him by the hand.

When he is small enough, a father s face
Is full of starriness and looks like space
Above the trees upon an August night,
And his dark future is unfathomed light.

What his son and his son's sons will be
Is there for any man to see;
The father sits with wonder in his gaze
To see the sure design of his own days.

What was behind the sorrow and the lust,
What was behind his father s work in dust
Was holy, single life unearthly keen,
Clean as the petals on a star are clean.

A grandson tells what no man dares to tell
When he is deep in living and feels well:
That any son is more than one man s heir
And wears all proud men s glory on his hair.