Classic Poem

Ingrate Angel, he,
To purchase Hell, and at so vast a price!
'Tis the old story of celestial strife—
Rebellion in the palace-halls of God—
False angels joining the insurgent ranks,
Who suffered dire defeats, and fell at last
From bliss supreme to darkness and despair.
But they, the faithful dwellers in the spheres,
Who kept their souls inviolate, to whom
Heaven's love and truth were truly great rewards:
For these the stars were sown throughout all space,
As fit memorials of their faithfulness.
The wretched lost were banished to the depths
Beneath the lowest spheres. Earth barred the space
Between them and the Faithful. Then the hills
Rose bald and rugged o'er the wild abyss;
The waters found their places; and the sun,
The bright-haired warder of the golden morn,
Parting the curtains of reposing night,
Rung his first challenge to the dismal shades,
That shrunk back, awed, into Cimmerean gloom;
And the young moon glode through the startled void
With quiet beauty and majestic mien.

Slowly rose the dædal Earth,
Through the purple-hued abysm,
Glowing like a gorgeous prism,
Heaven exulting o'er its birth.

Still the mighty wonder came,
Through the jasper-coloured sphere,
Ether-winged, and crystal-clear,
Trembling to the loud acclaim.

In a haze of golden rain,
Up the heavens rolled the sun;
Danae-like the earth was won,
Else his love and light were vain.

So the heart and soul of man
Own the light and love of heaven;
Nothing yet in vain was given,
Nature's is a perfect plan.