Classic Poem

Mind, busy in the body's life-lit room;
Seldom in strength, unpiloted at best;
How ignorant you admit from outer gloom
The soul, in all God's world, most welcome guest.

These two, it seems, are separate. The soul
On incorporeal errands comes and goes
With rumours and reportings from the Whole
For mind, which only brain experience knows.

Poor mortal mind, when you, in me, decay—
When once delighting faculties grow dim—
Cry on the parting soul for power to say,
With passion, ‘I befriended was by Him.’