Oh, I could worship Indra’s rise In roaring, rain-bound thunder, And Rudra’s wild, capricious eyes That split the sky asunder. Their glory flows in cloud-packed skies And wakes my weary wonder. Yet all their virile glories bloom In Gaia’s soft receiving, And I could love her earthly womb, Her fecund grace perceiving. Could die into her pregnant tomb To rise in her believing. And Chronos, higher yet somehow, All lives and lands surrounding, In balanced, glorious, fluid Tao Rolls worlds and worlds abounding. That motion of forever now Assuring and astounding. Yet t’ward what final life and mind Might this dread logic shove me: To One creating worlds and time Above all gods above me. Oh may I glimpse that one Divine And gasp to find He love me.