 | Love's Last Labour Not Lost |  |
289
TO THE COMET OF JULY, 1861.
“Ominous, mysterious stranger!
Flaming fiercely from the skies,
Art thou come to herald danger
With a terrible surprise?
Is thy mission one of ire?
Jehovah's judgments, flood, or fire?”
Flaming fiercely from the skies,
Art thou come to herald danger
With a terrible surprise?
Is thy mission one of ire?
Jehovah's judgments, flood, or fire?”
Such would have been in ages past,
(Bound in Superstition's chain,)
The cry of multitudes, aghast,
Had they, from yonder starry plain,
Beheld thee thus intensely glow
On this our world of sin and woe.
(Bound in Superstition's chain,)
The cry of multitudes, aghast,
Had they, from yonder starry plain,
Beheld thee thus intensely glow
On this our world of sin and woe.
To us, in these enlightened days,
Thou no herald art of danger;
Still we behold thee with amaze,
Unexpected, heavenly stranger!
Through illimitable space
Running thy eccentric race.
Thou no herald art of danger;
Still we behold thee with amaze,
Unexpected, heavenly stranger!
Through illimitable space
Running thy eccentric race.
For eternity thy history
May afford a theme sublime—
As thou cam'st, depart, a mystery,
Never to be solved by time;
Yet in thy coming we once more
See cause to wonder and adore.
May afford a theme sublime—
As thou cam'st, depart, a mystery,
Never to be solved by time;
Yet in thy coming we once more
See cause to wonder and adore.
| Love's Last Labour Not Lost | |