Classic Poem

The being supreme, that universes call
God; He who made us in His matchless might;
God, who exists in love, and song, and light,
Whose august name can doubting souls appall,

Disdains the humble homage of us all,
Weak, puny motes His fiery glaive can smite,
And scorns our prayers as age to age takes flight,
While the frail earth before Him bows, a thrall!

For he is tortured by intolerant dread!
The dismal knowledge of superior powers
That could annihilate him with a breath,
Thrills and dismays him, while, uncomforted,
Among his myriad stars he trembling cowers,
Filled with the unutterable fear of Death!