The Stars

THE terrible tranquillity of space!

My soul shrinks back in sudden doubt. I fear

The myriad eyes that through the ether peer,

And chill the arrogance that dared to trace

The grave enigma of the cosmic face.

Yet through the soundless night a voice austere —

"We that you deem afar are small and near;

With lowly things and humble we have place;

We are but smoke that from a burnt Past rears;

The idle spray God's prow flings in its sweep

Through wider waters; the mere dust that curls

From his vast chariot-wheels as on He whirls;

The futile sparks that from His anvil leap;

Or drifting seeds, pregnant of larger spheres."