The world God made is infinite—or not.
Its essence is of matter—or of thought.
If finite—how much more He could have made!
If infinite—the same too may be said.
A world of matter—should it even be?
A world of thought—it matters not to me.
How wondrous strange, for all that, we are here.
And stranger yet: it stays; we disappear.
In shrinking, God made room for worlds to be.
My God my God, make room in You for me!