 | The poetical works of Henry Alford |  |
IV.
Ev'n thus, may some believe, too wide we roam:But roam we wider still. Yon orb of light
Daunting the heavenward eye with potent beam,
Serves it not, too, some glorious end for man?
Say, it were made to rule this nether day:
Almighty Power might with such sheen endow
Some point minute; nor spend a million worlds
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Say, it were built so vast, by central force
Those orbs to draw attractive, lest in space
Wheeling immense, the orbits far and cold
Of planets even now but known to man
Their common bond forget, and errant roam,
Yet,—be this so,—shall each dependent world
Be portioned out for bird and beast and man,
And this, the noblest, dreary all and blank,
Home of no life,—alone of all the band,
Though brightest, radiant with no love nor joy?
And grant that high Intelligences dwell
Within yon spanning belt of dazzling fire,
Whence, and what are they? Do they fall, as here,
By death, and feed decay? Do they, as here,
Sorrow, and sin, and toil, and hate, and pine?
Fades there the brightest? Has love there its frosts,
Its worms that gnaw the root,—its withering buds?
Our earth obeys its law, vicissitude:
One while, we bask beneath the genial ray,
One while, in grateful night our strength renew:
Winter gives nature rest,—the voice of Spring
Calls forth the buds,—Summer the bloom unfolds,
And lavish Autumn sheds the mellowed fruit,
And so we live by change. But there no night
Drops on the vales, nor visits them the dawn:
That orb serene eternal brightness clothes;
Nor seasons' varied course is known, nor march
Of years recurrent: fit abode for those
Whose life hath done with change, and rests in bliss.
What if each system have its sun, its heaven?
What if the sentient dwellers in its orbs,
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Meet on those glittering spheres in joy and love?
And what if all, uncounted firmaments
Of suns, with angel habitants, around
The Central Throne, in mingling glory roll?
| The poetical works of Henry Alford | |