THE BOHEMIAN HYMN

In many forms we try

To utter God's infinity,

But the boundless hath no form,

And the Universal Friend

Doth as far transcend

An angel as a worm.

The great Idea baffles wit,

Language falters under it,

It leaves the learned in the lurch;

Nor art, nor power, nor toil can find

The measure of the eternal Mind,

Nor hymn, nor prayer, nor church.

Poems Household Edition · 第 240 / 294 题