Sonnet 112

All that man is or is yet meant to be,
All history past or that yet still to come,
Is but a second of eternity
When measured from sweet birth unto dread doom.
From murky past he crawled into the light
And from all fours he slowly rose to two;
Subdued a savage world through will and might,
And with freed hands, gods in his image, hew.
Unto these graven icons he gave thanks;
To earthen idols he did bow and pray,
And bade his brethren join him in high trance;
Sheer supplication vowed a better way.
Some carved their gods of wood and some of stone;
Born of one pith, yet each believed his own.