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[I. Still burns the prophet's fire, as when of old]

“Niczto!—no Ty wo mnie sijaesz
Weliczestwom Twoich debrot;
Wo mnie sebia izobraz'aesz,
Kak solnce w maloy kaplie wod.”—
Derzhavin.

“Nothing!—but thou shinest in me with the majesty of thy goodness; in me thou imagest thyself, like the sun in a little drop of water.”


Still burns the prophet's fire, as when of old
Elijah called, on Carmel, on the name,
The one sole name; and see! it mounts in flame,
Just on the limits of eternal cold.
Pure, bright, and full, it swells;—a sacred glow
Rolls o'er the spotless wilderness of snow,
And floating flakes of crystal burn as gems,
Worthy to shine in angels' diadems:
And then, in sounding tones, come thoughts of power,
Full of sublimity and truth and awe:
Thunders in majesty the unyielding law;
Relenting grace descends in healing shower.

283

We feel as nothing in the infinite:
We feel that infinite within our souls,—
Away the cloud of doubt and darkness rolls;
Our spirits stand, assured and free, in light.