I read the laws by which the heav’ns revolve. My guide great Newton, through their shining paths. Of crumbled empires o’er the dust I mused; Rome saw me ’mid her sacred tombs descend; Of holiest manes disturbing the repose; The dust of heroes in my hands I weighed, Asking their senseless ashes to restore That immortality each mortal seeks. What say I? hanging o’er the bed of death, I sought it even in expiring eyes; On summits darkened by eternal clouds, On billows tortured by eternal storms, I called; I braved the shock of elements. Like to the sybil in her rage divine, I fancied nature in those fearful scenes Some portion of her secrets might reveal: I loved to plunge amid those horrors dread. But vainly in her calm and in her rage This mighty secret hunting, everywhere I saw a God, and understood him not. I saw both good and ill, without design, As if by chance, escaping from his hands; I saw on all sides evil, where there might Have been the best of good, and too infirm To know and comprehend him, I blasphemed; But breaking ’gainst that heav’n of brass, my voice Had not the honor to e’en anger fate. One day, however, that by mis’ry wrung, I wearied heaven with my fierce complaint, A light descended from on high, that filled My bosom with its radiance, and inspired My lips to bless what madly they had cursed. I yielded, grateful, to the influence, And from my lyre the hymn of reason poured. “Glory to thee, now and for evermore, Eternal understanding, will supreme! To thee, whose presence space doth recognise! To thee, whose bright existence every morn Announceth! Thy creative breath hath stooped To me, and he who was not hath appeared Before thy majesty! I knew thy voice Ere I had known myself, and at its sound Up to the gates of being I did rush. Behold me! nothingness doth here presume To hail thee at its coming into life. Behold me! but what am I? what my name? A thinking atom—who may dare to hope Between us two the distance e’er to scan! I, who in thee my brief existence breathe, Myself unknown and fashioned at thy will, What ow’st thou, Lord, to me, were I not born? Before or after, naught—hail end supreme! Who drew all from himself, to himself owes all. Enjoy, great artist, of thy hands the work. I live thy sov’reign orders to fulfil. Dispose, ordain, control, in time, in space; My day and sphere, for thy own glory mark; My being, without question or complaint, In silence hasten to assume its place. * * * * * * * Glory to thee! annihilate me, strike! One cry, one cry alone shall reach thy ear— Glory to thee, now, and for evermore!” * * * * * THE LIFE GUARDSMAN.