O lord all Godland! lift the brow
Familiar to the noon,—to top
The universal world,—to prop
The hollow heavens up,—to vow
Stern constancy with stars,—to keep
Eternal ward while [♦]eons sleep;
To tower calmly up and touch
God’s purple garment—hems that sweep
The cold blue north! Oh, this were much!
Where storm-born shadows hide and hunt