The Stars

THE terrible tranquillity of space! My soul shrinks back in sudden doubt. I fear The myriad eyes that through the ether peer, And chill the arrogance that dared to trace The grave enigma of the cosmic face. Yet through the soundless night a voice austere— “We that you deem afar are small and near; With lowly things and humble we have place; We are but smoke that from a burnt Past rears; The idle spray God's prow flings in its sweep Through wider waters; the mere dust that curls From his vast chariot-wheels as on He whirls; The futile sparks that from His anvil leap; Or drifting seeds, pregnant of larger spheres.”