Hymns and Poems Original and Translated: By Edward Caswall ... Second Edition |
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| II. | II. TO THE SKY. |
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| XVII. |
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 | Hymns and Poems |  |
II. TO THE SKY.
Benedicite, cœli, Domino.
O sea of thoughts!
Wave upon wave
Of mystery and wonder without end,
Borne in upon my soul!
Casting her upward glance on yonder breadth
Of unsupported dome
In viewless joinings knit;
Yon azure firmament,
The ocean incorruptible
Of space immense,
Beyond all suns and spheres,
Beyond the starry depth,
Beyond attenuate ether's utmost bound,
Stretching its onward way!
O dreary solitude!—O mystic realm
Of primal chaos!—Distance infinite!—
Where e'en imagination drops her wing!—
O barrier unconceived!
Dissever'd equally
From spirit as from sense!
Blue mirror of bright Heaven!
Which from beneath we mortals gaze upon;
Whose upper coast,—creation's table-land—
Is that great sea of glass
Which makes the pavement of th' eternal throne!
O void unsearchable of depth and height!
Up whose unfathom'd vistas as we glance,
The outskirts of dim immortality
Loom on the trembling gaze;
As when within the eye
Searching deep down by mirror's aid,
We seem the soul to see
Coil'd up and basking in her own eternity!
Wave upon wave
Of mystery and wonder without end,
Borne in upon my soul!
Casting her upward glance on yonder breadth
Of unsupported dome
In viewless joinings knit;
Yon azure firmament,
The ocean incorruptible
Of space immense,
Beyond all suns and spheres,
Beyond the starry depth,
Beyond attenuate ether's utmost bound,
Stretching its onward way!
O dreary solitude!—O mystic realm
Of primal chaos!—Distance infinite!—
Where e'en imagination drops her wing!—
O barrier unconceived!
Dissever'd equally
From spirit as from sense!
Blue mirror of bright Heaven!
Which from beneath we mortals gaze upon;
Whose upper coast,—creation's table-land—
Is that great sea of glass
368
O void unsearchable of depth and height!
Up whose unfathom'd vistas as we glance,
The outskirts of dim immortality
Loom on the trembling gaze;
As when within the eye
Searching deep down by mirror's aid,
We seem the soul to see
Coil'd up and basking in her own eternity!
Praise thou the Lord most high,
All-spanless sky!
Whose everlasting Hand
Has, like a tent, thy veil cerulean spread!
Praise Him, ye Heavens!
Praise Him, ye waters, that above the Heavens
Extend your awful shade!
Proclaim, proclaim,
The glory of His Name,
Thou light, that flowest in a flood divine!
Declare His praise
Through ceaseless nights and days,
Ye stars, that like the Saints in glory shine!
O that to me were given
To blend my voice with your ecstatic song!
And through the spheres of Heaven
The peal of jubilation to prolong!
All-spanless sky!
Whose everlasting Hand
Has, like a tent, thy veil cerulean spread!
Praise Him, ye Heavens!
Praise Him, ye waters, that above the Heavens
Extend your awful shade!
Proclaim, proclaim,
The glory of His Name,
Thou light, that flowest in a flood divine!
Declare His praise
Through ceaseless nights and days,
Ye stars, that like the Saints in glory shine!
O that to me were given
To blend my voice with your ecstatic song!
And through the spheres of Heaven
The peal of jubilation to prolong!
And what though stars there be,
Wandering through space,
Rayless and dead,
Consign'd to blackest night for evermore?
O let not such
Be my sad lot, I pray,
When on my vision fades this earthly day;
But set me, Lord, amid Thy living orbs,
Though dimmest there,
Though least of all
In that vast galaxy;
Yet counted Thine, and number'd with Thy Saints!
And ever be my place,
Not amid heathen constellations old,
Arcturus, Pleiads, or Orion huge,
But in that saintly cluster of bright stars
New found of late in the new hemisphere,
Thy Cross, O Jesu!
Crowning the arch of night!
The glory of the islands of the South!
Greeting, in pagan climes unknown,
With a thrice welcome and familiar smile,
The weary wanderer on ocean tide.
Wandering through space,
Rayless and dead,
Consign'd to blackest night for evermore?
O let not such
Be my sad lot, I pray,
When on my vision fades this earthly day;
But set me, Lord, amid Thy living orbs,
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Though least of all
In that vast galaxy;
Yet counted Thine, and number'd with Thy Saints!
And ever be my place,
Not amid heathen constellations old,
Arcturus, Pleiads, or Orion huge,
But in that saintly cluster of bright stars
New found of late in the new hemisphere,
Thy Cross, O Jesu!
Crowning the arch of night!
The glory of the islands of the South!
Greeting, in pagan climes unknown,
With a thrice welcome and familiar smile,
The weary wanderer on ocean tide.
| Hymns and Poems | |