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Poems (Carmichael)/Stolen Sunbeam

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4516969Poems — Stolen SunbeamSarah Elizabeth Carmichael
THE STOLEN SUNBEAM.

There 's a light that burns with a quenchless glow,
In the wide, deep caverns of earth below;
Like the fire that lives on the Parsee's shrine,
Is the amber torch of the lighted mine.
Burning forever, steadily bright;
Flickering never, a changeless light;
Proud and passionless, still and fair;
Burning forever without a glare;
Burning forever, so still and deep,
A quenchless flame in a dreamless sleep;
And Time's broad ocean may roll its waves
While space hath room for the centuries' graves;
It hath not billows to dim the shine
Of the wizard fagot that lights the mine.

Beware! beware! of a starless beam!
The nightmare spell of a miser's dream.
Emotionless ever, its subtle art
Tugs at the strings of the world's strong heart.
The stars of the earth at its bidding stoop;
Awed by its menace, life-roses droop;
And the fairest blossoms that earth can twine
Fade near the taper that lights the mine.

The Fallen looked on the world and sneered:
"I guess," he muttered,"why God is feared;
"For eyes of mortals are fain to shun
"The midnight heaven, that hath no sun.
"I will stand on the height of the hills and wait
"Where the day goes out at the western gate,
"And reaching up to its crown will tear
"From its plumes of glory the brightest there;
"With the stolen ray I will light the sod,
"And turn the eyes of the world from God."

He stood on the height when the sun went down—
He tore one plume from the day's bright crown;
The proud orb stooped till he touched its brow,
And the marks of that touch are on it now,
And the flush of its anger forever more
Burns red when it passes the western door!
The broken feather above him whirled,
In flames of torture around him curled,
And he dashed it down from the snowy height
In broken masses of quivering light.
Ah! more than terrible was the shock
Where the burning splinters struck wave and rock;
The green earth shuddered, and shrank, and paled,
The wave sprang up and the mountain quailed.
Look on the hills—let the scars they bear
Measure the pain of that hour's despair.

The Fallen watched while the whirlwind fanned
The pulsing splinters that ploughed the sand;
Sullen he watched, while the hissing waves
Bore them away to the ocean caves;
Sullen he watched while the shining rills
Throbbed through the hearts of the rocky hills;
Loudly he laughed:"Is the world not mine?
"Proudly the links of its chain shall shine;
"Lighted with gems shall its dungeons be;
"But the pride of its beauty shall kneel to me!"
That splintered light in the earth grew cold,
And the diction of mortals hath called it "gold."