The world is smaller than you know, my friend;
from vantage of our cramped and little souls
it seems to go forever without end,
as hill on hill in endless series rolls,
but no! it turns upon itself and curves
around so that you meet yourself again.
Instead of onward pace, the highway swerves,
you've met the end as soon as you begin.
So too our souls curve inward like a sphere;
with bounded surface touching outer world
our smallness makes a wall against our pride;
and yet we also hold a vastness dear,
true boundlessness within our sphere is curled--
but not ourselves, no! we hold God inside.
The Craft of Reason
The craft of reason none attain
except by matching wit and skill
against the sharpest minds before,
except by asking why and how,
by finding puzzles in the kinds
of things too easy to accept,
except by wonder reaching out,
except by patience hunting long,
except by musement, care, and hope.