The Couch of Our Master's Rest³¹

With wings remote of stars silent is Thy voice.
Our mortal breath knocks at Thy giant trance.
In vain ends not our aspiration's cry.
The supreme King of Immortality
Commands the cosmic gods to play in mirth
The hide and seek on Thee, around, below.
The eternal Hour dances within their eyes.
Our Master's immortal sheath by Thee is clasped.
We feel his occult presence upon Thy breast.
The dire hunger of earth is vanished at last.