I worship a nameless god
In whom I half-believe;
His nameless feet have trod
Where men rejoice and grieve;
His nameless altar stands
Among the virgin trees,
In far and foreign lands,
Unstirred by any breeze.
No creed is handed down;
No rites are acted out;
No priest in pompous gown –
No book, no pious doubt;
I only know him thus:
When through the toil and strain
Come words melodious,
He smiles in my brain.
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