Classic Poem

If God himself six thousand years could wait
Till I was born to comprehend the scheme
Of his wide-ranging worlds, I must not deem,
Though long delayed, the recognition late
Which comes to me, the seer. Slow-footed fate
Is not quite moveless; and the age-long dream
Of night and darkness now the first faint gleam
Of morning pierces. On the dial-plate.

The sun moves his bright finger; and at last
The stars, long playing on the brain of man,
Have set his thoughts in motion, to keep time
With their majestic dance across the vast
Blue floor of heaven, threading out the plan
Of God's eternal symphony sublime.