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Some chosen prophet-soul the while
Shall dare, sublimely meek,
Within the shroud of blackest cloud
The Deity to seek:
'Midst atheistic systems dark,
And darker hearts' despair,
That soul has heard his very word,
And on the dusky air
His skirts, as passed He by, to see
Has strained on their behalf,
Who on the plain, with dance amain,
Adore the Golden Calf.
'Tis but the cloudy darkness dense;
Though blank the tale it tells,
No God, no Truth! yet He, in sooth,
Is there—within it dwells;
Within the sceptic darkness deep
He dwells that none may see,
Till idol forms and idol thoughts
Have passed and ceased to be:
No God, no Truth! ah though, in sooth,
So stand the doctrine's half;
On Egypt's track return not back,
Nor own the Golden Calf.
