Silence and the Voices of Men

What was there in that silence that could scare Thy eagle spirit, Pascal, strong to scale The mount of God, to heights within the vail, Even on the worn wings of its own despair?

I rather — if a moment I may dare Place thought of mine, all light and bubble-frail, By thought of thine — I rather grow more pale Through stress of trouble and consuming care, When listening to man's Babel voices rise. Or far or near, from the abyss of time, Where every age, and race, and creed, and clime. Is many-mouthed and voluble, and cries Discord and doubt forever, with the roar As of a starless sea that has no shore.