Classic Poem

Where sweepest Thou this earth, Jehovah!
Like a windmill turnest Thou a mortal's schemes—
And the winds that flare to renew a gust
That lies sunken in Thy palm it seems.

Thy palm? A stricken creature I am!
The truth, I fain, would but a gurgle be
And all the truest brakers of space
Assume the like, ere dividedly.

O that ever-burning, seasoned warmth:
It seems like an opening of Thy careful returns
And behind it hides this divine announce;
A web of hues guard Thy turns.

And Thy shadow that doth repose a nature
That giveth brightness to the spirit, pure
Love! the only youthful stain
That shall ever reign.

O what a cheat is love, love invisible,
Which doth float and disappear like a puff;
And the earth, agrowth for an age.
Will at last drop like a star aloof.

My thought shall be as wide as this,
My love still wider seem;
The eminence of this daily charm
Shall climb above—eternal bliss.