Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers in our casual deeds . . . Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose tomorrow the ground won today- Ah, do not we, Wanderer, await it too?
We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides, The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides: But tasks in hours of insight will'd Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.
'He knows', says Hebraism, 'his Bible!'-whenever we hear this said, we may, without any elaborate defense of culture, content ourselves with answering simply: 'No man, who knows nothing else, knows even his Bible.'