The noblest heart knows not to scorn
The grasping of the sad and lost
Whose pleasant poisons leave them torn 
Between exhaust and cost.

Nor would a wise and kindly eye
Look ill upon the lush elect
Who pile their riches to the sky
And to them genuflect.

The true soul walks a patient path,
Unstirred, as the self-righteous prate
Ironically of holy wrath
And sinners’ fiery fate.

All beings, knowing so or no,
Draw God’s mind in the quests they trace
In myriad turnings, till they go 
Divinely toward true grace:

Redemption of an alien kind,
Borne of the search and not the find,
Pursuit for the transcendent mind…
And all else left behind.