 | Poems |  |
[II. To thy continual Presence in me wrought]
To thy continual Presence in me wrought,Vainly might I, a fallen creature, say,
That I partake the blessedness of day,
To thee, thou essence of Creation's thought.
That on my verse might fall thy healing dew,
And all its faults obscure, its charms renew.
I praise Thee not, because Thou needest praise,
What were my thanks, thou needest not my lays,
Yet will I praise thee, for thou art the fire
That sparkles on the strings of my dark lyre.
Sole majesty, yet 'round us softly flowing,
Unseen, yet in the common Sunset glowing,
The fate of Universe, the tide of things,
Sacred alike to all beneath thy wings,
If Passion's trance lay on the writing clear,
Then should I see thee evident and near,
Passion, that breath of instinct, and the key
Of thy dominions, untold Mystery.
| Poems | |