Have naught to cover them. This pendent Earth 

 Hangs on his word,—in gathering clouds he binds 

 The ponderous waters, till at his command 

 They rend their filmy prison. Day and night 

 Await his nod to run their measured course. 

 Heaven's pillars and its everlasting gates 

 Tremble at his reproof. The cleaving sea 

 And man's defeated pride confess his power. 

 Yet the same Hand that garnisheth the skies 

 Disdaineth not to fashion and sustain 

 The crooked serpent. But how small a part 

 Of all its works are understood by us 

 Dim dwellers in this lowly vestibule, 

 And by the thunders of mysterious power 

 Still held in awe. 

 As the Eternal lives 

 Who hath bow'd down my soul, as long as breath 

 Inspires this mortal frame, these lips shall ne'er 

 Utter deceit, nor cast away the wealth 

 Of a good conscience. While I live I'll hold 

 Prev. P 53/285 next