  Primal swirl of the Chaos, out of your nebulous Night Eddied the primal tides, as the Mind of God decreed, And the Word of the ultimate Source spake forth "Let there be Light," And all the Firmament blazed with the dust of the star-sown seed. Strong and stately and splendid, thronging the limitless spaces. Ye are the silver signs to a House not made with hands; Ye are the Mystic Scroll, where the Mighty Maker traces Thoughts that the passionate poet dimly understands. Day, with its drouth and drosses, shrivels our fragile souls, And, witched with its transient gauds, to the perilous earth we cling, But ever the tender night its infinite page unrolls, And the star-led mind aspires to the Throne of the star-robed King. |
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