Come! The Asiatic man
Has created a new plan:
Go not, pilgrimage to make
To the idol that he break.
What is this epiphany
That mens hearts, rejoiced to see,
From the ashes of the way
Gladly leap, like sparks at play?
To attain what far abode
Strive the Turks upon the road,
That their bosom fluttereth
With the quickness of their breath?
Strive thou, selfhoods joy to know:
They who on this journey go
Shatter every worldly chain
That they may to Self attain.
Men whose hearts are dead and cold
As a cell this world behold;
With two cups to fill their head,
From the whole of life they fled.
I will ever be the slave
Of those horsemen bold and brave
Who, with spear uplifted, far
Ride, to pierce and thread a star.
Angels lack the season now
Prostrate to their Lord to bow;
Creatures of pure light, for they
Rapturous gaze on men of clay!