This is he, who, felled by foes, <br />Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows <br />He to captivity was sold, <br />But him no prison-bars would hold: <br />Though they sealed him in a rock, <br />Mountain chains he can unlock: <br />Thrown to lions for their meat, <br />The crouching lion kissed his feet: <br />Bound to the stake, no flames appalled, <br />But arched o’er him an honouring vault. <br />This is he men miscall Fate, <br />Threading dark ways, arriving late, <br />But ever coming in time to crown <br />The truth, and hurl wrong-doers down. <br />He is the oldest, and best known, <br />More near than aught thou call’st thy own, <br />Yet, greeted in another’s eyes, <br />Disconcerts with glad surprise. <br />This is Jove, who, deaf to prayers, <br />Floods with blessings unawares. <br />Draw, if thou canst, the mystic line <br />Severing rightly his from thine, <br />Which is human, which divine.<br /><br />Ralph Waldo Emerson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/worship/
