31 DECEMBER 1881, Page 17

POETRY.

THE DYING BUDDHIST'S HYMN.

I GO to Him in whom all is, The self-existent Perfectness; Who knows not of finality, The only Being that can be ; Who, without motion can create, Or, motionless, annihilate A world whose cup is brimming high With will, and self, and blasphemy.

Unto the All be honour given,— I shall not see Him, even in Heaven ; The outline of Infinity, The substance of Divinity, Created spirit may not grasp ; Only by faith His knees I clasp.

My little rill draws near the sea, Source of my soul, I come to Thee. W.