William Ellery Channing (1818–1901)

WE are centred deeper far

Than the eye of any star,

Nor can rays of long sunlight

Thread a pace of our daylight.

In thy form I see the day

Burning, of a kingdom higher,

In thy silver net-work play

Thoughts that to the Gods aspire;

In thy cheek I see the flame

Of the studious taper burn,

And thy Grecian eye might tame

Natures ashed in antique urn;

Yet with this lofty element

Flows a pure stream of gentle kindness,

And thou to life thy strength hast lent,

And borne profoundest tenderness

In thy Promethean fearless arm,

With mercy’s love that would all angels charm.

So trembling meek, so proudly strong,

Thou dost to higher worlds belong,

Than where I sing this empty song:

Yet I, a thing of mortal kind,

Can kneel before thy pathless mind,

And see in thee what my mates say

Sank o’er Judea’s hills one crimson day.

Yet flames on high the keen Greek fire,

And later ages rarefies,

And even on my tuneless lyre

A faint, wan beam of radiance dies.

And might I say what I have thought

Of thee, and those I love to-day,

Then had the world an echo caught

Of that intense, impassioned lay,

Which sung in those thy being sings,

And from the deepest ages rings.