Brahma

By Ralph Waldo Emerson

If the red slayer think he slays,    Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways    I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near;    Shadow and sunlight are the same; The vanished gods to me appear    And on to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out;    When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt,    And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode.    And pine in vain the sacred Seven; But thou, meek lover of the good!    Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)