Light that Burns

 

What should we do with Heaven's light

If it must wound us so?

How sharp its rods and lashes smite,

We'd rather hide below

 

The thick warm layers of our earth,

Soft blanketed as once,

And cradled darkly as at birth

In swathes of ignorance.

 

And yet within us something cries

For that white touch which burns,

An anguish in our blackest lies

To feel that Truth-fire yearns.

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