VIII.

"Aye truly! and as when by mere appliance
Of that brain-fashioned scale of Abstract Science
To the Star-worlds on high, diviners bold
Have sometimes found a gap—declared a flaw
In our serenest dance of sister spheres;
And with a pod-like confidence foretold
The missing Planet needed by their law:
And when the optic tube, redoubling sight,
Conies in the course of long-revolving years
To test the startling prophecy aright—
Lo! there the cinders of the crumbled World,
Of proper weight, in fitting orbit hurled!
Or down in some obscure recess of Space,
Lo! there the lurking lost one they will trace,
And in some shining crowd you least suspect,
The furtive golden fugitive detect!—
Even so—when Love, that test diviner far,
Finds mightier flaws the moral fabric mar,
With full assurance may he not foretell
Some compensating cure must somewhere dwell—
Some good that shall the sense of wrong dispel?
page 338 And if immortal Life and nothing less
Be needed that deficience to redress,
Is it a splendour of too vast an orb,
Too bright for those whose gloom it should absorb—
Too grand a boon by Man to be enjoyed,
With his material kinship to the clod?—
Nay—'tis a speck to Him who left the void;
A World to us—a tiny Asteroid
To the infinite Munificence of God!

"Well then—through all that glittering mystery
Man sees that each demand brings its supply;
Responsive forces each stray force correct,
All waste restored, all aberrations checked;
Till perfect in all parts before him stands
The mighty structure from the Master's hands.
With no harsh note—no inharmonious noise,
Vast Worlds in myriads wing their flight sublime;
Their balanced whirl no chance, no change destroys;
But every pebble finds its counterpoise,
And every Star comes rounding up to time!—
So were the Spirit-World found perfect too
Could we its whole completed cycle view;
No wrong its neutralizing right would miss;
No sorrow some equivalent of bliss;
And every Soul whate'er its make or mood,
Though long or short the circuit it pursued,
Come brightening back at last to happiness and good;

—" Enough—enough! I feel, I see
The Cheerful still the True must be!
Look up, my love! nor longer keep
That sweet pretence of trustful sleep:
page 339 I know beneath each full-orbed lid,
The coiled-up living lustre hid,
Lurks ready for an innocent dart,
Not aimed at, sure to hit, the heart;
And round the placid lips the while,
Dawns the faint twilight of a smile.
Then listen, love! and let me try
To queries wide some weak reply!"