Classic Poem

Why fear the things the senses give —
The things of sense I touch and see?
Unknown their substance, yet they live,
Part of the conscious part of me.

Why fear the sea? The surge, I know,
Is surgent merely in my soul.
In me the tides and currents flow,
The tempests roar, the billows roll.

Can mind be overwhelmed and slain
By what in mind is mainly wrought?
Matter with spirit wars in vain,
Nor can a thing annul a thought.

It is myself that meets myself
As the strong waves my body break;
'Twill be myself that greets myself
When from the agony I wake —

Myself and God-in-me , for His embrace
Will be more intimate and loving far,
Than when I drifted in tempestuous space,
Lashed, drowning on the body's flotsam spar,
And, through the spray,
Saw, worlds away,
His Beauty like a rainbow round a star.