XXIX.

When from beneath the Almighty Hand The suns and systems rushed abroad, Like coursers which have burst their band, Or torrents when the ice is thawed;

When round in luminous orbits flung The great stars gloried in their might; Still, still, a bridgeless gulf there hung 'Twixt Finite things and Infinite.

That crown of light creation wore Was edged with vast unmeasured black; And all of natural good she bore Confessed her supernatural lack.

For what is Nature at the best? An arch suspended in its spring; An altar-step without a priest; A throne whereon there sits no king.

As one stone-blind that fronts the morn, The world before her Maker stood, Uplifting suppliant hands forlorn— God's creature, yet how far from God!

He came. That world His priestly robe; The Kingly Pontiff raised on high The worship of the starry globe:— The gulf was bridged, and God was nigh.