A HYMN TO GOD

Lift, O dark and glorious Wonder,

Once again thy gleaming sword,

Cleave this killing doubt asunder

With one sheer and sacred word!

For my heart is weak and broken,

And the struggle runs too high,

And there is no burning token

In the new immortal sky.

Oh, not curb or courage only

Does my hour demand of me,

It is thought supreme and lonely

And responsible and free!

And I quail before the danger

As a bark before the blast,

When the beacon star's a stranger

In the mountains piling fast,

And there is no light but reason

And the compass of the ship.

God, a word of thine in season!

God, a motion of thy lip!