To brood on the world that is thine by his grace for a span,

Conceals and reveals in the semblance of things that are

Thine immanent presence, the pulse of thy heart's life, Pan.

The fierce mid noon that wakens and warms the snake

Conceals thy mercy, reveals thy wrath: and again

The dew-bright hour that assuages the twilight brake

Conceals thy wrath and reveals thy mercy: then

Thou art fearful only for evil souls of men

That feel with nightfall the serpent within them wake,

And hate the holy darkness on glade and glen.

[Pg 133]

Yea, then we know not and dream not if ill things be,

Or if aught of the work of the wrong of the world be thine.

We hear not the footfall of terror that treads the sea,

We hear not the moan of winds that assail the pine:

We see not if shipwreck reign in the storm's dim shrine;

If death do service and doom bear witness to thee

We see not,—know not if blood for thy lips be wine.

But in all things evil and fearful that fear may scan,

As in all things good, as in all things fair that fall,

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