Suppose it’s true, as testimonies tell,
That as we think, we’re either ill or well,
That we are not our bodies but our souls,
Who reappear in many earthly roles,
And that beneath all corporality
Designed by mind resides a Mystery.
All this is easy just to brush away
As silly superstition Truth will slay
When scientists who measure and observe,
Restricted by the premises they serve,
Report that nothing metaphysical
Exists: the world is all material.
And yet some few have found their way to Mind,
That Source by which all bodies are defined.