They, by their greed of gold urged to and fro,
For petty pleasures bending God's soul low--
I, seeking for my star about the sky.

When it is found,--when it is found, how great
Will be the wonder of these blind and mad!
How great will be the wonder and the hate,
Waking to see the glorious truth too late
Will _he_, too, see his error, and be sad?

The wind sweeps weirdly o'er the heaven to-night,
Weirdly and black, as though from guilty deeds,--
From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight,
Leaving the drowning in their direful plight--
Leaving the drown'd low waving in the weeds.

No stars, no stars again! Oh woe! again
Night drowns me in its darkness and its gloom,
And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain,
Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain;
All things are leagued to darken down my doom.

Perchance it is that I am growing weak,
And faint with wandering afar, afar,
And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek;
And yet I must not ask, I must not speak,
Nor tell--the secret of the Saviour star.

No! dumb,--dumb,--I shall set me down to scan
Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space,