His telescope, to spy Thee in the clouds,
Who in green herb and starry flower, beneath
His vagrant foot, hath failed to see and love
Thy manifest beauty. O make clear my sense
Thou great Revealer, to the grand array
Of open mysteries that encompass round
Our daily walk with Godhead, that no vain
And wordy fool may cheat my facile ear
With echoed volleys of man's crude conceit,
Misnamed God's thunder! From Thyself direct
Thy secret comes to all, whom Thou shalt deem
Worthy to find it. Councils, doctors, priests,
Are but the signs that point us to the spring
Whence flow Thy living waters; and, alas!
Too oft with wavering, or with cowardly hand.
Back-turned, they point. Teach Thou my stablished
To seek Thy teaching, Lord, and trust in Thee.
The generations of uncounted men
Have hymned Thy praises, Lord. Their stammering
With monster'd doctrine magnified the power
Of Him, whose vastness they were fain to grasp,
But could not. Even the folly of the fool
Shall praise Thee, Lord. Thou hast a place for all.
The wicked and the weak are but the steps,
Whereon the wise shall mount, to see Thy face;
And mighty churches, and high-vaunted faiths,
Are but the schools, wherein Thy centuries train
The infant peoples to the manly reach
pure devotion; and most wise are they,
Who hear one hymn of varied truth through all
The harmonious discord of strange witnesses-
Prophets and martyrs, priests and meek-eyed saints,
And rapt diviners, with imperfect tongue,
Babbling Thy praises. Egypt's brutish gods,
Dog-faced, hawk-headed, crocodile, and cat,
Snake-eating ibis, and the spotted bull,
Not without apt significance did type
Tby severed functions to a sense-bound race.
In sea and sky, green tree, and flowing stream,
In flying bird, and creeping beast, they found
Pictorial speech, and speaking signs of what
They crudely guessed of Thee. To clearer Greeks
Old Uranus, and primal Titans strong,
And supreme Jove, with dark and thunderous locks,
Throned like a king, with sceptre in his hand,
And ministrant eagle, spake Thy mighty power
With awful grace. Each seized a part of Thee,
And, with a fond assurance, deemed to hold
Thy wide Infinity in earthly bonds
For human needs. Nor less the Christian priest
Portentous erred, when with rash hand he clutched
The awful Triune symbol, and defined
The immeasurable Majesty Supreme
With subtle phrase and scientific rule,
And with strong fence of wiry logic barred.
Thy bristling name, from touch of thought profane;
Then, from a throne high-seated, and girt round
With triple-tiered presumption, grasped Thy bolt,
Sported Thy thunder, and with Thy best friends
Filled a far-dreaded Hell, that he might seem
A god on Earth, whom awe-struck, grovelling men
Might see, and feel, and handle. The pale monk,
Wasting his flesh within a cold damp cell,
And straining his dull vision, till he saw
God's features, in the strange putrescent light
Of his own sick imaginings-this man caught
A glimpse of Thee, and, with such fiery haste
Did hug Thee, and with prostrate worship fell,
That nevermore his head he dared to lift
Erect, and with proud-sweeping glance survey
The free-sown wealth of Thy broad-blooming world,
Man's privilege.—On so nice a pivot turns
True wisdom; here an inch, or there, we swerve
From the just balance; by too much we sin,
And half our errors are but truths unpruned.
The errors of Thy creatures praise Thee, Lord.
Not they who err are damned; but who, being wrong,
In obdurate persistency to err
Refuse all bettering. Hope for such is none,
Which lives for all, who flounder boldly on
Through quaggy bogs, till firmer footing found.
Gives grateful prospect. One Deceiver haunts
The hearts of faithless men; his name is FEAR.
O Thou, who ridest glorious through the skies,
In thunder or in sunshine strong the same,
The Almighty builder of this radiant whole
Whose brightness blinds star-eyed philosophy,
Whose vastness makes our staggered intellect beg
For utterance vainly-Father of all Power,
Eternal Fount of liberty and life,
Free, measureless, unspent-if e'er my voice
Rose to Thy throne, in reverent truthful prayer,
Slay me this demon, yellow Fear, that maims
The arm of enterprise, nips the bud of hope,
And freezes the great ocean of our life,
That should run riot in the praise of Thee,
With wave on wave of high heroic deeds.
O may this Sabbath, with its gentle dews
Shed by Thy Spirit on my chastened soul,
Revive the blighted bud of thought, and lift
This low-crushed life into a mighty tree,
Wide-armed and waving with fair summer fruits
Exuberant-clustered !-May all Sabbaths be
A ripe and mellow season to my thought,
Lovely as golden Autumn's purple eve,
Genial as sleep, whence the tired limb refreshed
Leaps to new action, and appointed toil,
With steady hope, sure faith, and sober joy.
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