The Kingdom of God

Does the fish soar to find the ocean, the eagle plunge to find the air, that we ask of the stars in motion if they have rumour of thee there?

Not where the wheeling systems darken, and our benumbed conceiving soars, the drift of pinions, would we hearken, beats at our own clay-shuttered doors.

The angels keep their ancient places; turn but a stone, and start a wing: ’Tis ye, ’tis your estranged faces that miss the many-splendoured thing.

Francis Thompson