To A Poet
If thou art a poet-son of God
Fix upon the heights thy steadfast glance;
Listen with quick ear to catch His word;
Speak, as He shall give thee utterance.
Tell what earth unseals to thee,
And the sky reveals to thee;
What the hoarse wind shrieks,
And the dark tide speaks;
What the storm-clouds thunder
In their meeting crash;
What the lurid wonder
Of the lightning flash.
Why the strong sun sets,
And the planets rise;
Why the rainbow spans
The wet summer skies;
What the forests utter
With incessant sound;
What the caverns mutter,
Rumbling underground;
What the crag reveals,
Where man never trod;
What the abyss conceals
Of the ways of God.
What the eagle calls
To the wild glen;
What the waterfalls
Answer again,
What the snake hisses;
What the wolf yells;
What, to nestling,
The owl's hooting tells.
What the hawk screameth
Over her nest;
What the heart dreameth
In mother's breast;
What the streams are gurgling
In a pleasant voice;
Why the lambs are racing;
Why the birds rejoice;
What thrushes sing to thee:
What church-bells ring to thee.
Why the flowers fade;
Why the earth-worm dies;
Why the chrysalids
Turn to butterflies.
What the message of the rose
And the violet;
Why each sweetest thing that grows
Is with tear-drops wet.
What the mind guesses,
Day after day,
Through dim recesses
Groping its way.
What the stars shout
Each unto each;
What the moon answers
In silver speech:
What of joy reaches thee;
What they pain teaches thee;
That, do thou teach.
Let thine inspiration,
Thy wisdom, be
What all God's Creation
Calleth to thee
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