The grandest forms of active force

From God come, their only source.

Who can of Him the nature tell?

Our sight He flies, our touch as well.

Eluding sight, eluding touch,

The forms of things in His hand are such;

Eluding touch, eluding sight,

There are their semblances, all right.

Profound He is, dark and obscure;

Things' essences by Him endure.

Those essences the truth enfold

Of what, when seen, shall then be told.

Now it is so; 'twas so of old.

His name--what passes not away;

So, in their beautiful array,

Things form, and by His leave decay not.

How know I that it is so with all the beauties of existing things? By this (nature of God).