WITNESSES.
77
The stars steal, slow and silent, Each in the ancient place,—Each in armor shining, The hosts of heaven arrayed,And wheeling through the midnight As they did when the world was made.
And I lean out among the shadows Cast by that far white gleam,And I tremble at the murmur Of one mote in the mighty beam,As the everlasting squadrons Their fated influence shed,While the vast meridians sparkle With the glory of their tread.That constellated glory The primal morning saw,And I know God moves to his purpose, And still there is life in his law!
