Mother, among the dustbins and the manureI feel the measure of my humanity, an
As of the presence of God,
I am
In the dustbins, in the manure, in the cat at play,
Is the presence of God, in a sure
He moves there. Mother, what do you say?
I too have felt the presence of God in the broomI hold, in the cobwebs in the room,
But most of all in the silence of the tomb.
Ah! but that thought that informs the hope of our
Is but an empty thing, what lies behind? —Naught but the vanity of a protesting
That would not die. This is the thought that
Within a conceited head and
Inquiry. Man is most frivolous when he pronounces.
Well Mother,
I shall continue to think as I do,
And I think you would be wise to do so too,
Can you question the folly of man in the creation of God? Who are you?
