Classic Poem

W HO'LL sing the song of the starry throng,
The song of sun and sky?
The angels bright on thrones of light,
Not a mortal such as I.
How vast, how deep, how infinite,
Are wonders spread abroad
On outward walls, on azure halls,
The city of our God!

Men seldom look on the marv'lous book
Which God writes on the sky;
They cry for food as the only good,
Like beasts which eat and die.
Awake! and gaze on the glorious maze!
For ev'ry day and night
God paints on air those pictures rare
To thrill us with delight.

Oh, come with me, and let us flee
Across the dewy lawn!
And see unroll'd in realms of gold
The glories of the Dawn.
Behold, she streaks the mountain-peaks
With faintest tinge of grey!
The glory hies, the mists arise,
The shadows flee away.

The stars rush back from the conqu'ror's track,
The night away is driv'n,
The King of Day mounts on his way
Through the golden gates of heav'n.
His heralds fly athwart the sky
With radiant rainbow-hue,
Or hang around the deeps profound,
Th' unfathom'd gulfs of blue.

The great vault reels 'neath his chariot-wheels,
The thunder-clouds are riv'n,
Till they expire in crimson fire
On the burning floor of Heav'n.
And then, oh, then! each hill and glen,
Each peak and mountain old,
With diadem of glory swims
In living seas of gold.

With gorgeous train, through the blue domain,
He rushes on and on,
Till with a round of glory crown'd
He mounts his noon-day throne;
Then burning beams, with golden gleams,
He sheds in show'rs abroad.
We cannot gaze! oh, the glorious blaze!
The garments of the god.

Then from his throne, with azure zone,
The conqueror descends;
In robes of white through realms of light
His downward course he bends,
'Mid great white domes, like happy homes
Of ransom'd souls at rest,
Whose work is done, whose crowns are won,
Who dwell among the blest.

How calm, how still, how beautiful!
The very soul of Peace
Seems breathing there her secret pray'r
That sin and strife may cease.
Then in the west he sinks to rest,
Far down in Ocean's bed;
He disappears 'mid Ev'ning's tears,
A halo on his head.

I cannot write the marv'lous sight,
At his setting, last I saw;
I only feel, I only kneet,
With trembling love and awe.
Who'll sing the song of the starry throng,
The song of sun and sky?
The angels bright on thrones of light,
Not a mortal such as I.