Page:Poems Cook.djvu/187

"There's a loftier thing than the hills that spring,
 Though, perchance, 'tis alone in its daring height;
There's a loftier thing than the eagle king,
 And it striketh out with a holder flight.

"It is not the wolf, nor the tiger dam,
 With red fangs laved in their reeking food;
There is that which drains and laps from the veins,
 Fiercer in preying and fonder of blood.

"It is not the worm that dwelleth in shade,
 Leaving its slime as it travelleth slow;
There is that which is bound to the dusty ground,
 More abjectly crawling—more meanly low.

"It is not the sweet bird that dies in its nest,
 Pining to miss its chosen love;
For I have seen truth and affection rest
 In a deeper fount than the breast of the dove.

"It is not the snake in the jungled brake,
 Crushing and stinging with venom'd fold;
There is that which coils with deadlier toils,
 Griping its victim with firmer hold.

"I have measured the star," quoth the gray old man,
 "And can guess what its limits in space may be;
I have found how far," quoth the gray old man,
 "The lead will sink in the 'deep, deep sea.'

"But there is that which hath baffled my skill,
 Though my brain to the task was closely set;
I have watch'd and sought with right goodwill,
 But its power and depth I know not yet.

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