Classic Poem

Shall He, the chargers of Whose chariots are
Suns and their systems shod with effluence,—
Shall He not know the pathway of our star
And through the ages guide it surely thence?

Shall He not drive the chariots of the Worlds
To reach at last their predetermined goals,
Where, past the endless æons, still unfurls
Elysium longed for by our trembling souls?

God, the Worlds' Gardener, sees within earth's halls
Life as a bud that flowers but in To Be;
His will is as a lamp that lights the walls
Down the dim canons of Eternity.