Classic Poem

Are all the stars that gleam and glance,
And rise and set, and roll and range,
But fire-flies on the feet of Chance,
And bubbles in the breath of Change?

Or are the rays of yonder spark
The rowels of a devil's spur?
And are the outskirts of the dark
A shambles and a sepulchre?

And is the Infinite afar
A charnel-house, a noisome den,
Bestrewn with shards of sun and star,
And meagre mummy souls of men?

Nay, we believe that star and sun
Are rosaries that angels wear.
We tell the planets one by one,
Each is the symbol of a prayer.

We trace the chain of sun and star
Into the holy heights remote,
Until our fingers touch afar
An angel's warm and lyric throat.