There is no tiny insect but does know
Itself within Thy Presence visual:
From us too swiftly years and seasons go,
To Thee all change is a thing gradual.

E'en as at nightfall, when the lights come in,
The moth attracted woos and meets her death,
So do I seek Thy light to wander in,
Though fearfully and with half-bated breath.
So do I seek all knowledge of Thy stars,
Which move in and without my vision's reach;
Maybe yet burning with internal wars,
Or shaking as this world with human speech.

Stars which perhaps ten thousand years ago
Waned and grew cold at Thy almighty word
Waft their light hitherward. I do not know--
Thy recreating voice I have not heard.
Maybe, e'en at this hour Thine accents shake
Some chaos into order, into life;
Perchance some great creation now doth break
Into new form beneath Thy wisdom's knife.

Ah, Lord! The night appals me. Give me strength
Within myself to search this planet's dome:
O Supreme Architect, give me at length
Some clearer knowledge of Thy spaceless home!
My spirit seethes within me; in the sky
Thy constellations shine; for me begin
My labours until night-time passes by--