Classic Poem

O Thou infinite in being;
Living 'midst the change of all;
Thou eternal through time's fleeing;
Formless—Three-in-one withal!
Spirit filling all creation,
Who hast neither source nor station;
Whom none reach, howe'er they plod;
Who with Thine existence fillest,
Claspest, mouldest as Thou willest,
Keepest all; whom we call—God!

Though the lofty mind could measure
Deepest seas, and count the sand,
Of the starry rays the treasure,
Thou no number hast, no strand!
Highest souls by Thee created,
To Thy service consecrated,
Ne'er could trace Thy counsels high;
Soon as thought to Thee aspireth,
In Thy greatness it expireth,
Moment in eternity.

Thou didst call the ancient chaos
From eternity's vast sea:
On Thyself, ere time did ray us,
Thou didst found eternity.
By Thyself Thyself sustaining,
From Thyself unaided shining,
Thou art Light—light flows from Thee;
By Thy words all things creating,
Thy creation permeating,
Thou wast, art and aye shalt be.

All existence Thou containest
In Thee, quick'nest with Thy breath;
End to the beginning chainest;
And Thou givest life through death.
Life as sparks spring from the fire,
Suns are born from Thee, great sire:
As, in cold clear wintry day,
Spangles of the frost shine, sparkling,
Turning, wavering, glittering, darkling,
Shine the stars beneath Thy ray.

All the million lights, that wander
Silent through immensity,
Thy behests fulfil, and squander
Living rays throughout the sky.
But those lamps of living fire,
Crystals soaring ever higher,
Golden waves in rich array,
Wondrous orbs of burning ether,
Or bright worlds that cling together,
Are to Thee as night to day.

Like a drop in sea before Thee
Is the firmament on high:
What 's the universe of glory,
And before Thee what am I?
In yon vast aërial ocean
Could I count those worlds in motion,
Adding millions to them—aught
I could fancy or decipher,
By Thy side is but a cipher;
And before Thee I am—naught!

Naught! And yet in me Thou rayest,
By Thy gift and through Thy Son:
In me Thou Thyself portrayest,
As in one small drop the sun.
Naught! Yet life I feel throughout me,
And, content with naught about me,
Upward fly with eager heart.
That Thou art, my soul supposes,
Tries, and with this reas'ning closes:
“Sure I am, hence Thou too art.”

Yes, Thou art—all nature tells me;
Whispers back my heart the thought;
Reason now to this impels me:
Since Thou art, I am not naught!
Part of Thine entire creation,
Set in nature's middle station
By Thine order I abide;
Where Thou endest forms terrestrial
And beginnest souls celestial,
Chains of beings by me tied.

I 'm the link of worlds existing,
Last high grade of matter I,
Centre of all life subsisting,
First touch of divinity.
Death to dust my body sunders:
In my mind I wield the thunders.
I 'm a king, a slave to Thee:
I 'm a worm, a god! Whence hither
Came I, wonderful? Oh, whither?
By myself I could not be.

Thine am I, Thou great Creator,
Outcome of Thy wisdom sole;
Fount of life, blest conservator;
Of my soul the king and soul!
Needful to Thy just decreeing
Was it that my deathless being
Pass to Thee through death's abyss:
That my soul, in body vested,
Wend, by death refined and tested,
Father, to Thy deathlessness.

Traceless One, unfathomable!
Now I cannot see Thy face:
My imagining 's too feeble
E'en Thy shadow here to trace;
But, if we must sing Thy glory,
Feeble mortals, to adore Thee
In a worthy attitude,
We must rise to Thee to wreathe Thee,
Lost in distance far beneath Thee,
And—shed tears of gratitude.