METHOUGHT that unto God I prayed: Oh, Lord!

If thou wouldst deign to let poor me behold

Thy greatness, so that with my human brain

I understood it! Thus I spoke, and Lo!

I stood alone upon a mountain rock,

In utter darkness, towering rocks beyond

The dread abyss, that at my feet lay black

And fathomless, yielding no answer to

The searching eye. And, measureless, the sky

Above was dark'ning into endless night.

Then, from the deep did vapours seem to rise

In white procession, denser, and yet denser,

Until into a rising column they

Began to form—a column like a mountain,

That rose and rose and rose up to the vaults

Of darkness which it seemed to carry, all

One mass of light. And when I looked again,

That column built itself of millions and

Millions of milk-white stars that moved and shone

And seemed to lift the skies unto a height

That human sight and human word could not

Attain. And whilst I looked and wondered at

The seething worlds, the column changed and formed

Itself into the statue Buonarroti

Has made of Moses, only reaching from

The deep into the heavens, white and bright,

As if three suns, themselves invisible,

Had shed their light upon the statue, or

As if an inner light shone out from it.

The socle, not on earth, but far beyond,

Was standing on the Parthenon, that shone

As bright again with endless rows of columns.

Here was the answer: Millions and yet millions

Of rising worlds, and every people's art,

And all religions may but serve to form

My human likeness, so that men behold

Me great as mortal eye and brain encompass.

For days I walked on clouds, I lived my dream.

I heard not, saw not, thought not, but beheld

The world's Creator in the silent night,

And felt the blessing so unspeakable

Of God's own answer to my childish prayer.