"What think ye?"

J. CRADDOCK JONES.

Think ye of Mind as but a transient force,
A temporal power within the human breast,
Destroyed when sin has run its wanton course
And wayward man at last is laid at rest?

Think ye of Spirit as a phantom hand
That beckons but to multiply our ills,
And straightway tenders all its spectre band
To lead the hosts of earth where'er it wills?

Think ye of Soul as but a single star,
Set in the orbit of corporeal sense,
To guide us to some firmament afar,
And sin, disease, and death its recompense?

Think ye of Life as but a span of years
Of joy and anguish wrought by mortal breath,—
A martial law, a government of fears,
And man, eternal—counterpart of death?

Think ye of Truth as but a mortal thought,
A voiceless image on a voiceless throne,
Now veiled by error and by error bought,
And sold again like some enchanted stone?

Think ye of Love as but a flick'ring light
Of mammon's greed, or wasting torch of lust,
Extinguished by the gloom of endless night,
When human hopes have crumbled into dust?

Nay, nay, Mind, Spirit, Soul, Life, Truth, and Love,
Immortal cause, immutable and one—
The Father-Mother God, omnipotent above,
And ever-present here. His will be done.

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