Classic Poem

IV.

ODE TO THE HEAT AND COLD.

Y E Heat and Cold!
Creatures most opposite!
Betwixt you twain ofttimes
In a strange doubt I stand,
Which out of which proceeds;
Nor what ye are, nor whence,
Can I at all divine,
Unvers'd in natural things;
Yet have I learnt
Not to this little globe
Your office to confine,
Ranging through space,
Beyond where eye can trace,
Or thought the goal assign.

And each invisible
In its own nature seems;
Yet hath from God its own investiture
And special outward robe,
Wherein from ancient days itself it shows:
Thou, Heat, in flame appearing; thou, Cold, in ice and snows!
All for the sake of our poor mortal being,
By mercy's heedful law;
Lest we not seeing,
Nor of their presence warn'd, too near should draw,
And perish quite extinct in their devouring maw!

And Heat a docile creature doth appear,
Though violent at times;
And we abuse her as our bondslave here,
Abettor in our crimes;
Who, soon unchain'd, shall us and all consume,
The partner of our guilt and of our doom.

But the Cold dwells apart,
Inflexible and stern in his own place,
Seated on high,
Beneath the upper sky,
In regions calm and still,
Where evermore he worketh his own will,
And changeth not for us his rigid face;
Nor unto man himself will bend,
Either to be his servant or his friend:
Save when in downy snow
O'er the raw glebe he deigns his cloak to throw;
O power of Love divine to tame him so!
That one, who doth for earth so little care,
Thus should lend his mantle rare,
Earth's tender things to pity and to spare.
And of this mantle much I might unfold,
Wrought on angelic loom in days of old:
How, mindful of its heavenly birth,
No stain it takes of earth,
But presently returns to Heav'n again;
On this vile sod
That bears the curse of God,
Unable to remain;
Or how, with curious eye,
If we but venture in its folds to pry,
Seeking the woof to find,
Which through its maze doth wind —
Scarce with a finger's tip
Have we begun the delicate web to trace,
Woven in crystal pure, —
When lo, the skein
Beneath our mortal touch dissolves apace,
Unwilling to endure
The hand that might its purity profane!
O, proof to all
Of our sad primal fall!
O that of sinful flesh so great should be the bane!