What hath a man attained who gives himself A soul-less puppet to the spirit-world? E'en at the end of all his earthly days He is but that same being which he was, When in earth's primal days his human form From out the cosmic womb did first emerge. If to those impulses I yield myself Which, springing from unfathomed depths of soul, Clamour imperiously for life and form, Then in me works the universal all. I know not then what drives me on to act; But surely it must be the cosmic will Which leads me on to its appointed goal. This will must know the wherefore of man's life Though human knowledge cannot make it plain. That which in perfect manhood it creates Is vital wealth wherewith to form the soul. To it will I surrender, and no more By idle spirit-striving kill it out.

Myself I work in this same cosmic will When it flows mightily through human souls, Which are but limbs of higher entities Until they can experience my power. And 'tis my task to make them perfect men And fit themselves into the universe.

Four Mystery Plays — Part 97

I long have thought I knew the whole of thee; Yet dwelt within me but thy phantom shade Portrayed there by my visionary dreams. Now must I feel thee, live thee by my will; Then can I overcome thee later on If so 'tis written in my destiny. Let spirit-knowledge, that I gained too soon, Repose henceforth within mine inmost soul Till impulses in life shall call it forth. With confidence I yield me to that will That hath more wisdom than the human soul.

Four Mystery Plays — Part 97

The Temple of the Sun; hidden site of the Mysteries of the Hierophants; Lucifer, Ahriman, the three Soul-Figures, Strader, Benedictus, Theodosius, Romanus, Maria.

Four Mystery Plays — Part 97

The Lord of Wishes stands as victor here-- He hath been able to o'erpower the soul Which even in the light of spirit-sun Still had to feel akin to this our realm. I seized th' auspicious hour in which to cast A glamour o'er its vision of the light To which in dreams alone it had bowed down. Yet all my hopes must forthwith disappear That victory is ours in spirit-realms, Since thou art worsted, comrade of my fight. Thou wast unable to o'erpower the soul Which was to bring our labours to their goal. The human soul that gave itself to me I can possess and in our kingdom hold For short earth-lives alone, but all in vain; For then I must restore it to our foes. To win outright we need the other, too, That hath withdrawn itself from thy domain.