Eyes have they, but they see not:
Yet the pagan builds his shrine,
And keeps his fires divine
Forever bright, nor darkly doubts there be not
Enough of grace and power
Within those eyes that glower
To read his soul. To him they are not blind,
For some dim, undefined
Reward of faith that thrills his untaught breast
Links up his baser mind
To the clear eyes of God that burn behind
The stony brow. It is a creed professed
Before a deity not quenched in space,
But one to whom his bands
Can lift adoring hands,
And see and touch and worship face to face.