Passer-by, sin beyond any
Is the sin of blindness of souls to other souls.
And joy beyond any joy is the
Of having the good in you seen, and seeing the
At the miraculous moment!
Here I confess to a lofty scorn,
And an acrid skepticism.
But do you remember the liquid that
Poured on tintypes making them
With a mist like hickory smoke?
Then how the picture began to
Till the face came forth like life?
So you appeared to me, neglected ones,
And enemies too, as I went
With my face growing clearer to you as
Grew clearer to me.
We were ready then to walk
And sing in chorus and chant the
Of life that is wholly life.
