BY HENRY WARE, JR.
WITH what a stately and majestic step That glorious constellation of the north Treads its eternal circle! going forth Its princely way among the stars in slow And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail! I joy to see thee on thy glowing path
Walk, like some stout and girded giant: stern, Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot Disdains to loiter on its destined way.
The other tribes forsake their midnight track, And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave; But thou dost never close thy burning eye, Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on, While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds. The near horizon tempts to rest in vain. Thou, faithful sentinel, dost never quit
Thy long-appointed watch; but, sleepless still, Dost guard the fix'd light of the universe, And bid the north for ever know its place.
Ages have witness'd thy devoted trust,
Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God Sent forth that shout of joy which rang through heaven, And echoed from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, thy voice
Join'd the high chorus; from thy radiant orbs The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise, Who thus had cast another sparkling gem,
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd
Of splendours that enrich his firmament.
As thou art now, so wast thou then the same.
Ages have roll'd their course, and time grown gray; The earth has gather'd to her womb again,
And yet again, the myriads that were born
Of her uncounted, unremember'd tribes.
The seas have changed their beds; the eternal hills Have stoop'd with age; the solid continents
Have left their banks; and man's imperial works- The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung Their haughty honours in the face of Heaven, As if immortal-have been swept away, Shatter'd and mouldering, buried and forgot. But time has shed no dimness on thy front,
Nor touch'd the firmness of thy tread; youth, strength, And beauty, still are thine; as clear, as bright, As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth, Beautiful offspring of his curious skill,
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim The eternal chorus of eternal Love.
I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light, Undimm'd, unquench'd-just as I see it now-- Has issued from those dazzling points through years That go back far into eternity.
Exhaustless flood! for ever spent, renew'd For ever! Yea, and those refulgent drops, Which now descend upon my lifted eye, Left their far fountain twice three years ago. While those wing'd particles, whose speed outstrips The flight of thought, were on their way, the earth Compass'd its tedious circuit round and round, And, in the extremes of annual change, beheld Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve!
So vast the void through which their beams descend!
Yes, glorious lamp of God! He may have quench'd Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night
Rest on your spheres; and yet no tidings reach This distant planet. Messengers still come Laden with your far fire, and we may seem To see your lights still burning; while their blaze But hides the black wreck of extinguish'd realms, Where anarchy and darkness long have reign'd.
Yet what is this, which to the astonish'd mind Seems measureless, and which the baffled thought Confounds? A span, a point, in those domains Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars Dwell in that brilliant cluster, and the sight Embraces all at once; yet each from each Recedes as far as each of them from earth. And every star from every other burns No less remote. From the profound of heaven, Untravell'd even in thought, keen, piercing rays Dart through the void, revealing to the sense Systems and worlds unnumber'd. Take the glass And search the skies. The opening skies pour down Upon your gaze thick showers of sparkling fire; Stars, crowded, throng'd, in regions so remote, That their swift beams—the swiftest things that be- Have travell❜d centuries on their flight to earth. Earth, sun, and nearer constellations! what
Are ye amid this infinite extent
And multitude of God's most infinite works! And these are suns! vast, central, living fires, Lords of dependent systems, kings of worlds That wait as satellites upon their power, And flourish in their smile. Awake, my soul,
And meditate the wonder! Countless suns
Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds! Worlds in whose bosoms living things rejoice,
And drink the bliss of being from the fount Of all-pervading Love. What mind can know, What tongue can utter, all their multitudes! Thus numberless in numberless abodes! Known but to thee, bless'd Father! Thine they are, Thy children, and thy care; and none o'erlook'd Of thee! No, not the humblest soul that dwells Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course Amid the giant glories of the sky,
Like the mean mote that dances in the beam Among the mirror'd lamps, which fling Their wasteful splendour from the palace wall, None, none escape the kindness of thy care: All compass'd underneath thy spacious wing, Each fed and guided by thy powerful hand.
Tell me, ye splendid orbs! as from your throne Ye mark the rolling provinces that own
Your sway, what beings fill those bright abodes? How form'd, how gifted? what their powers, their state, Their happiness, their wisdom? Do they bear The stamp of human nature? Or has God Peopled those purer realms with lovelier forms And more celestial minds? Does Innocence Still wear her native and untainted bloom? Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad, And sow'd corruption in those fairy bowers? Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire? And Slavery forged his chains; and Wrath, and Hate, And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,
Leagued their base bands to tread out light and truth, And scatter'd woe where Heaven had planted joy?
TO THE URSA MAJOR.
Or are they yet all paradise, unfallen And uncorrupt; existence one long joy, Without disease upon the frame, or sin Upon the heart, or weariness of life; Hope never quench'd, and age unknown,
And death unfear'd: while fresh and fadeless youth Glows in the light from God's near throne of love, Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair!
Speak, speak! the mysteries of those living worlds Unfold! No language? Everlasting light
And everlasting silence? Yet the eye
Has written legibly what man may know,
THE GLORY OF THE MAKER. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable; and man,
Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,
May know and ask no more. In other days, When death shall give the encumber'd spirit wings, Its range shall be extended; it shall roam,
Perchance among those vast mysterious spheres, Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each, Familiar with its children; learn their laws, And share their state, and study and adore The infinite varieties of bliss
And beauty, by the hand of Power divine Lavish'd on all its works. Eternity Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight; No pause of pleasure or improvement; world On world still opening to the instructed mind An unexhausted universe, and time But adding to its glories. While the soul, Advancing ever to the Source of light And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.
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