REPOSE.

A mossy footfall in this wood

A peal of thunder were,

Or autumn tempest-shriek, compared

With the unwhispered stir

Of massy fluids lift in air,

To build these leafy pillars fair.

Lavished at wordless wish or mute

Command, the chemic wealth

Upsprings to meet the builders’ hands,

All hushed as dusky stealth.

Noiseless as love, as silent prayer

Mysterious, the builders are.

Ah, sure, these silences are works

Of God's sabbatic rest,

A music perfect as the calm

Of wave's unbroken crest!

These woven leaves that stilly nod,

These violets, ope their eyes on God.

The deep serene that worketh here

Works, too,‘ mid human tears;

A thousand years as one day is,

One day a thousand years.

Fell death still thunders at his task,

But death the peace of God doth mask.