 | English Roses |  |
MAKING OF A WORLD.
Somewhere in the great eternityWhere no angel even had trod,
From the womb of time's maternity
And the death-throes of a God
(Who alone by daily death
Gives the universe its breath);
Rocked by earthquakes and eclipse
And all tempests at hand-grips,
Swung the planet
Out of night
Into sight,
Hazy, mazy, as if crazy
Fear or drunken force began it.
Fire and cloud,
Shining shroud,
Dim and dolorous and trembling
Into order and new life,
Forth from agonies of strife
And strange energies assembling;
Wan and ghostly thus it came
Bodied flame,
Fretting at the measured bounding
Which compelled it now to bend
To the predetermined end.
So in dying which is living
Every moment the dear God
491
As a woman might her gloves,
Drops a planet
To be someday gold and granite
Full of burning hates and loves,
Just to show the pathway trod
And to prove Himself our God.
| English Roses | |