He was a clever fellow, could calculate most anything,
Used his instruments to measure to the last degree.
All things literal and metaphoric he could classify.
All that was composed he placed precisely in its pedigree.
Yet he hadn't found the implement to measure what's beyond,
No time, no space, no binding trace to capture sanctity.
Intuitively he surmised it had to do with some condition,
But was it categorical or outside his ability?
He tried by sniffing works of art, took in the size of dancers' feet,
On hearing Verdi, counted every teardrop falling from his eyes,
In vain he tried to measure what was clearly out of reach,
Monitored his heartbeats, the chills running down his spine.
So desperate now he turned to prayer, to ask for inspiration
And then he felt the floodgates open, carrying him to higher ground,
Precisely when those saintly words passed through his trembling lips,
His being was elevated, though his body earthly bound.
Then, when he endeavored to help a needy friend,
Again he felt transported to that stratospheric station.
Now he knew it had to do with two precise conditions
Somehow germane to distance, some uncanny regulation.
He felt the immediate Presence, so intimately close,
The action and response proved to be of instant consequence.
He saw therein a certain justice relevant to every case,
His heart and mind being the unfailing instruments.