Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Omnipresence

Omnipresence.

There is an unseen Power around,
Existing in the silent air;
Where treadeth man, where space is found,
Unheard, unknown, that Power is there.

And not when bright and busy day
Is round us with its crowds and cares,
And not when night, with solemn sway,
Bids awe-hushed souls breathe forth in prayers;

Not when on sickness' weary couch,
He writhes with pain's deep, long-drawn groan,
Not when his steps in freedom touch
The fresh green turf—is man alone.

In proud Belshazzar's gilded hall,
'Mid music, lights, and revelry,
That Present Spirit looked on all,
From crouching slave to royalty.

When sinks the pious Christian's soul,
And scenes of horror daunt his eye,
He hears it whispered through the air
"A Power of Mercy still is nigh."

The Power that watches, guides, defends
Till man becomes a lifeless sod,
Till earth is nought—nought, earthly friends—
That omnipresent Power—is God.