I towered far, and lo! I stood within The presence of the Lord Most High, Sent thither by the sons of earth, to win Some answer to their cry.
— “The Earth, say'st thou? The Human race? By Me created? Sad its lot? Nay: I have no remembrance of such place: Such world I fashioned not.” -
— “O Lord, forgive me when I say Thou spak'st the word, and mad'st it all.” - “The Earth of men — let me bethink me... Yea! I dimly do recall
“Some tiny sphere I built long back ( Mid millions of such shapes of mine ) So named... It perished, surely — not a wrack Remaining, or a sign?
“It lost my interest from the first, My aims therefor succeeding ill; Haply it died of doing as it durst?” - “Lord, it existeth still.” -
“Dark, then, its life! For not a cry Of aught it bears do I now hear; Of its own act the threads were snapt whereby Its plaints had reached mine ear.
“It used to ask for gifts of good, Till came its severance self-entailed, When sudden silence on that side ensued, And has till now prevailed.
“All other orbs have kept in touch; Their voicings reach me speedily: Thy people took upon them overmuch In sundering them from me!
“And it is strange — though sad enough - Earth's race should think that one whose call Frames, daily, shining spheres of flawless stuff Must heed their tainted ball!...
“But say'st thou‘ tis by pangs distraught, And strife, and silent suffering? - Deep grieved am I that injury should be wrought Even on so poor a thing!
“Thou should'st have learnt that Not to Mend For Me could mean but Not to Know: Hence, Messengers! and straightway put an end To what men undergo.”...
Homing at dawn, I thought to see One of the Messengers standing by. - Oh, childish thought!... Yet oft it comes to me When trouble hovers nigh.
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