and blue,
Gave to Orion and the Pleiads,
Thou hast begotten the orbs of dew.

{34}

Far-off and veiled it seems to me,
The face of yester dreamy sea,
That breathed so soft its shining waters
Pungent with odors of rosemary.

No sculptured arabesque to-day,
But unhewn strength in mighty play,
That heaves the ship on bursting billow
And smites the cliff in its ancient way!

Beneath its silken vestments beat
A lion heart of jungle heat;
Its couchant soul delights in battle
To fell the rock and to whelm the fleet.

{35}

Vast promise is the sea, and vast
Its pain. Its secret is held fast,--
Now hope's wide open eye and sunny,
And now a weeping and wailing past.

(I have a grievance unredrest
That stings my heart and rends my breast,--
Perhaps _it_ gathers in its bosom
The sorrows wild of the world's opprest?)

Deformity or pain unstrings
The music of the soul of things,--
Ah, suns burn bright in eyes of panther,
And lightnings leap in the eagle's wings!

{36}

Calm soul, unkindled by the sight
Of open heavens at noon of night,
Thou'lt dread the fires of day of judgment
When roll the skies as a parchment slight.

He waits not for that upward gaze--
The world is full of judgment days;
And every night the page is written,
"An atheist," or "Behold he prays!"

Ah, me! These lights so manifold,
So silvern new, so golden old,
Do witness swift, like fires of vengeance,
Against indifferent hearts and cold.

{37}

There are no solitudes to view,
The whole world lies in drop of dew;
From where it hangs all space is open;
It neighbors stars of the crystal blue.

This open vision has my soul
Athrill with silent organ-roll
Of immanence divine, and feels it
Upgather all in harmonious whole,--

Deep waves of God's vast music clear,
That pulse one choral atmosphere
Of Love's concordant purposes, and
Fore-score the song of His golden year.

{38}

If mighty angels fair and tall,
Each robed as priestly seneschal,
On altar-suns burn incense daily,
As wheel the systems to Love's sweet call,

Earth's sun is sure an altar-rose,
Abloom from dawn to day's bright close.
The mighty angel stoops above it
With pulsing wings, as it golden glows,

To fan the incense-waves through space.
When buds the light or folds its grace,
He lifts