Classic Poem

Thou whose face is as the lightning and whose chariot as the sun,
Unto whom a thousand ages in their passing are as one,
All our worlds and mighty systems are but tiny grains of sand,
Held above the gulfs of chaos in the hollow of Thy hand.

Yea, we see Thy power about us, and we feel its volumes roll
Through the torrent of our passions and the stillness of the soul,
Where its visions light the darkness till the dawn that is to be,
Like the long auroral splendours on a silent polar sea.

Then uplift us, great Creator, to communion with Thy will,
Crush our puny heart-rebellions, make our baser cravings still.
Thou whose fingers through the ages wrought with fire the soul of man,
Blend it more and more for ever with the purpose of Thy plan.

Speak, O Lord, in voice of thunder, show Thy footsteps on the deep,
Pour Thy sunshine from the heavens on the blinded eyes that weep,
Till the harmonies of nature and exalted human love
Make the universe a mirror of the glorious God above.