When from beneath the Almighty Hand
The suns and systems rushed abroad,
Like coursers which have burst their band,
Or torrents when the ice is thawed;
When round in luminous orbits flung
The great stars gloried in their might;
Still, still, a bridgeless gulf there hung
‘ Twixt Finite things and Infinite.
That crown of light creation wore
Was edged with vast unmeasured black;
And all of natural good she bore
Confessed her supernatural lack.
For what is Nature at the best?
An arch suspended in its spring;
An altar-step without a priest;
A throne whereon there sits no king.
As one stone-blind that fronts the morn,
The world before her Maker stood,
Uplifting suppliant hands forlorn —
God's creature, yet how far from God!
He came. That world His priestly robe;
The Kingly Pontiff raised on high
The worship of the starry globe:—
The gulf was bridged, and God was nigh.