THE HERETIC

I do not envy God —

There is no thing in all the skies or under

To startle and awaken Him to wonder;

No marvel can appear

To stir His placid soul with terrible thunder —

He was not born with awe nor blessed with fear.

I do not envy God —

He is not burned with Spring and April madness;

The rush of Life — its rash, impetuous gladness

He cannot hope to know.

He cannot feel the fever and the sadness

The leaping fire, the insupportable glow.

I do not envy God —

Forever He must watch the planets crawling

To flaming goals where sun and star are falling;

He cannot wander free.

For He must face, through centuries appalling,

A vast and infinite monotony.

I do not envy God —

He cannot die, He dare not even slumber.

Though He be God and free from care and cumber,

I would not share His place;

For He must live when years have lost their number

And Time sinks crumbling into shattered Space.

I do not envy God —

Nay more, I pity Him His lonely heaven;

I pity Him each lonely morn and even,

His splendid lonely throne:

For He must sit and wait till all is riven

Alone — through all eternity — alone.