Pride! Here no scale of inches is set up

For man to strain his littleness against,

But o'er me hangs the majesty of heaven,

Bright with the glory of the noontide sun;

Beneath, the Earth, that whispers "Thou art dust,

"Gat like a child forth from my fertile womb,

"And bone of my bone, thus, flesh of my flesh!"

Thou glorious firmament that like God's love

Enfoldest all creation utterly,

Making the pathway of the wheeling spheres

A splendour, and a triumph, and a joy,

That on the brightness of thine azure breast

Settest the constellated stars like gems,

To flash the glory of thy loveliness

Through all the fulness of unmeasured space.

Can madness in its raving cast a thought

To soar unto thy blessed perfectness,

[Pg 9]

Nor stand subdued with reverence and awe

In contemplation of the Infinite?

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