But we have sore misused, to all men's loss,
The great word "God," speaking the Unspeakable
With daily lips, and doing nowise well
To give thereby parts, passions, qualities
To the All-Being, who hath none of these;
Mingling weak mortal thoughts of "Sire" and "King"
In "God the Father"; and so worshipping
An idol, served with muttered spell and moan,
Baser than brass, and duller than dead stone;
A graven image of that Glorious All
Who hath no form, and Whom His Angels call
By never uttered names, and Whom to see
Not once hath been, and never once shall be;
Who doth, in universal rule, possess
Majesty, beauty, love, delightfulness;
The omnipresent, conscious, Joy. 'Twere well,—
If name must be—with Mary's Son to spell
This unspoiled Word, mystical, free of dread,
Ancient and hallowed; and by those lips said
Which knew its meaning most, and called "God" so,
"Eloi" in the Highest.
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