Classic Poem

God ! who can Thee comprehend?
Without beginning, without end;
With no future, with no past;
Ever present, first and last;
In the great, as in the small,
Omnipresent, " All in All! "
Nature's ramparts — hill and rock —
Men's great cities — pass like smoke;
Time and Nature shrink away,
But Thou knowest no decay:
All shall perish 'neath the sun —
Thou art the Eternal One!
In thine everlasting now,
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

At Thy works, so great and vast,
Speculation stands aghast;
Ev'rywhere infinite might,
Height still tow'ring over height,
Far beyond mind's utmost sweep,
Deep still yawning under deep,
Heav'n above, earth rolling under,
All is wonder piled on wonder.
Wisdom! glory! power unbounded!
Until reason stands confounded.
What of Thee can mortals say?
Silence is for things of clay.
Still we ask the " whence and how " ?
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

Artists ne'er can represent
Thy o'erhanging firmament,
Or the Morn, in robes of glory,
Walking on the mountains hoary;
When the shadows hear Thy voice,
And the awful hills rejoice,
With their peaks, in purple dyed,
In Thy smile all glorified.
Who can bring to soul or sight
Thy unfathom'd gulfs of Night?
Or the awful shadowy Pow'r,
Looking through the midnight hour,
When Repentance makes her vow?
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

How can poet catch the tune,
Rising from Thy groves at noon,
When each leaf and flow'ret sings
Of unutterable things?
Who can note the full-heart strains
Swelling from Thy forest-fanes,
Or the thunder and the leap
Of the torrents down the steep,
Or the laughter of the rills,
Or the silence of the hills,
Or divine the soul that broods
O'er Thine awful solitudes?
Or the calm on Ocean's brow?
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

Turn we wheresoe'er we will,
Thou, O God! art with us still:
We are never all alone,
There's a Presence in each stone;
All the air is full of eyes
Looking on us with surprise;
Sympathies run ev'rywhere;
Thoughts are hurrying through the air,
Bringing near related souls,
Tho' asunder as the poles;
Marvel upon marvel! still
Miracle on miracle! —
More than proud man will avow.
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

Yet Thine ancient bards have brought
Wonders from Thy realms of thought;
With their weird and wizard spells
They have wrought their miracles,
Started forms which make us start,
Things immortal as Thou art!
But those wondrous works divine,
Great Immaculate, are Thine!
Awful things the prophets saw
In their ecstasies of awe,
In the body laid asleep,
Sailing the eternal deep;
Faith the helm and Hope the prow —
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?

Dreamer vain and Pantheist
May define Thee as they list;
As in childhood we would rather
Look up to Thee as " Our Father, "
High in Heaven, Thy holy city,
Looking down in love and pity
On thy sons of fiery clay,
Fighting out life's tragedy.
We believe, " Almighty Father, "
Thou shalt all Thy children gather,
Where the light eternal flows,
And no wand'rer asks " Who knows? "
Seeing not as we see now —
Awful Spirit! — What art Thou?