Page:Poems Hornblower.djvu/111

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99

The stars are in eclipse—the heavens are dimmed,
Even God himself, on the eternal throne,
No more is conscious to the heart obscure;
Things palpable are all—and Mammon there
Sits as a sceptred king—and mortal glories,
With then vain, shadowy coruscations, shed
A visionary splendour. Darkened heart,
Where the sublime and true can enter not!
Where is the temple, there for the Supreme,
The altar fit for God? He comes not there
Where earthly passions rage, where persecution
Lights her unholy fires, where avarice broods
Over his sordid dreams, where love deserves not
The glory of its name; poor selfish passion,
Which desolates the heart—He comes not there.
Yet this is life—this is the education
Which the world gives its votaries. Early death,
Which comes with shadowing peace upon his wings,
And folds the young, unstained heart to heaven,
Its visions bright, its dearest hopes unbroken,
Its aspirations yet upon their flight,
Unsoiled by the world's dust, why do we mourn thee?
Valuing the sweet breath of the dewy morn,
Less than the heat, and toil, and battling day.