God, more than shadows conceived and adored of man,
⁠Kind Gods and fierce, that bound him or made him free,
⁠The skies that scorn us are less in thy sight than we,
Whose souls have strength to conceive and perceive thee, Pan,
⁠With sense more subtle than senses that hear and see.

Yet may not it say, though it seek thee and think to find
⁠One soul of sense in the fire and the frost-bound clod,
What heart is this, what spirit alive or blind,
⁠That moves thee: only we know that the ways we trod
⁠We tread, with hands unguided, with feet unshod,
With eyes unlightened; and yet, if with steadfast mind,
⁠Perchance may we find thee and know thee at last for God.