Shapes of Clay

How well this man unfolded to our view

The world's beliefs of Death and Heaven and Hell—

This man whose own convictions none could tell,

Nor if his maze of reason had a clew.

Dogmas he wrote for daily bread, but knew

The fair philosophies of doubt so well

That while we listened to his words there fell

Some that were strangely comforting, though true.

Marking how wise we grew upon his doubt,

We said: "If so, by groping in the night,

He can proclaim some certain paths of trust,

How great our profit if he saw about

His feet the highways leading to the light."

Now he sees all. Ah, Christ! his mouth is dust!