Page:Poems Thaxter.djvu/95

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AT THE BREAKERS' EDGE.
93
The cry of all Thy children since the first
That walked Thy planets' myriad paths among;
The cry of all mankind whom doubt has cursed,
In every clime, in every age and tongue.

Thou art the cold, the swift fire that consumes;
Thy vast, unerring forces never fail;
And Thou art in the frailest flower that blooms,
As in the breath of this tremendous gale.

Yet, though Thy laws are clear as light, and prove
Thee changeless, ever human weakness craves
Some deeper knowledge for our human love
That looks 'with sad eyes o'er its wastes of graves,

And hungers for the dear hands softly drawn,
One after one, from out our longing grasp.
Dost Thou reach out for them? In the sweet dawn
Of some new world thrill they within Thy clasp?

Ah! what am I, Thine atom, standing here
In presence of Thy pitiless elements,
Daring to question Thy great silence drear,
No voice may break to lighten our suspense!