Power

Power that is not of God, however great, Is but the downward rushing and the glare Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share In the one impulse which doth animate The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer- A moment brilliant, then most desolate! And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn From all the things we see continually That pride is but the empty mockery Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern And sweet repose of soul which we can earn Only through reverence and humility!