The Bohemian Hymn

In many forms we try
To utter God’s infinity.
But the boundless hath no form,
And the Universal Friend
Doth as far transcend
An angel as a worm.

The great Idea baffles wit,
Language falters under it.
It leaves the learned in the lurch;
Nor art, nor power, nor toil can find
The measure of the eternal Mind,
Nor hymn, nor prayer, nor church.

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

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A Massachusetts friend from another century sent the contribution above via other friends from another country late last year. It is reprinted with thanks. — MCM