8
what is man?
The fair home thou could'st have won on Heav'n's shore.
Like a prisoner, bending 'neath the rod,
Meet face to face thy deep offended God!
Oh! see'st thou not the "Infinite" didst place
In secret, hidden from thy wondering face,
Much that is destined from thyself to lie;
Unfitted for thy frail and mortal eye?
Oh! can'st thou count the grains of yellow sand,
That weaves a golden belt around the land?
Can'st thou, from its vast depths, the ocean drain?—
Of other years, draw forth the wrecks again?
Ephem'ral one! limit not Him who made
Thou, and thy world!—The mighty Hand that gave
To thee perfection, and perfection's crown:
Thy first great sin brought sorrow quickly down!
What is thy God?—A Spirit, that doth move—
An unseen Being, whose Almighty Love
Thro' all Eternity, in His own power
Has past;—a breath; a vision as of flowers—
Pure, undefiled, in Paradise that bloom
Amidst the gardens of the blest so soon.—
As their Earth's mission done, to our dull eye,
Beneath the wintry winds they fade and die.
Not so they rise, in glories fresh and true,
Far, far beyond the star realms, and the blue
Like a prisoner, bending 'neath the rod,
Meet face to face thy deep offended God!
Oh! see'st thou not the "Infinite" didst place
In secret, hidden from thy wondering face,
Much that is destined from thyself to lie;
Unfitted for thy frail and mortal eye?
Oh! can'st thou count the grains of yellow sand,
That weaves a golden belt around the land?
Can'st thou, from its vast depths, the ocean drain?—
Of other years, draw forth the wrecks again?
Ephem'ral one! limit not Him who made
Thou, and thy world!—The mighty Hand that gave
To thee perfection, and perfection's crown:
Thy first great sin brought sorrow quickly down!
What is thy God?—A Spirit, that doth move—
An unseen Being, whose Almighty Love
Thro' all Eternity, in His own power
Has past;—a breath; a vision as of flowers—
Pure, undefiled, in Paradise that bloom
Amidst the gardens of the blest so soon.—
As their Earth's mission done, to our dull eye,
Beneath the wintry winds they fade and die.
Not so they rise, in glories fresh and true,
Far, far beyond the star realms, and the blue
