If the red slayer thinks he slays,
Or if the slain thinks he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways.
I keep, and Pass, and turn again.
Far and forget to me is near ;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanish gods appear;
and one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leaves me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn, the Brahmin sings.
The strong gods pine for my abode
And pine in vain and sacred seven.
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.
- RALPH WALDO EMERSON
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