William Ross Wallace

Hymn of the Sun

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Listen. !—The Lord is still at musical motion in all the worlds.
And look far o'er the terrible Void—how Mazzaroth and Areturus
take their large blue space of immortality.


And all the mighty constellations fill with soul the idiot Abyss,
whose golden lips are trembling with their hallelujahs unto Him who was, and is, and evermore shall be.


And hark! the Sun of yonder worlds, bright sisters of the orb that
knew the Incarnate One, slnites through the anthem his old
opulent cadence; and the spheres make solemn movement to the melody.


We hear.



Evermore, evermore, as a glorious soul,
With my mystical garment of beauty I roll:
And the joy is as deep, and the thought is RS grand
As when first I appeared at the wave of his hand,
At the stamp of His will, while the Poem of Time
That had lain in His thought, took an audible chime~
And the low-breathing Earth, and sonorous bright stars
Moved majestical on through the limitless bars;
And the Mighty One heard the deep voice of the zones,
Like an ocean, resound at the foot of His thrones.


Evermore, evermore, how I joy to behold
The bright atmosphere round me in melody rolled!
What a gladness is mine, with my mountains on high;
With my valleys that green in their deep shadows lie;
With my rivers that from the far avalanche pour;
With my ocean-tides sounding on many a shore!
And the myriad nations that swarm on my plains,
In their rose-bowered homes and their gorgeous fanes!
OhI gladness and glory are mine, ever mine,
For I feel that the breath that I draw is divine.


Nor alone am I thus in a paradise crowned;
See my brides are all wiaging the ether around:
How they glow with the pomp of their rings and their moons;
How they swoon ia the joy of their passionate tunes;
How they turn their glad eyes to their own Nuptial-star,
By them named the blest Sun, in the spaces afar;
How they thrill in their bliss, and, impregnate, give birth
To the millions that spring from each beautiful earth;
To the nations, tuned each with its own natal clime,
Making full, perfect notes in the choral of Time.


o ye brides of my heart, as ye turn to me, know
That I tenderly watch o’er your beauty below:
Not a jewel can flash, not a garden can bloom;
Not a rainbow can start o’er a hurricane’s tomb;
Not a young bird can soar from a blossoming brake;
Not a whisper can breathe from a moon-lighted lake;
Not an island can rise from a billowy deep;
Not a babe, blest of all, on your bosoms can leap—
That I thrill not in ether, and ocean, and sod,
And a thanksgiving weave in my anthem to God.


Evermore, evermore as a glorious soul,
With my mystical garment of beauty I roll—
With my brother-suns roll around Destiny’s rim,
As it circles the cloud-covered dwelling of him
Whose thoughts are the orbs, and whose music the spheres,.
Bounding off from the limitless keys of the years:
It is thus, it is thus I must sing, I must glow,
With the splendors that far through the universe flow•
With the cadences moving through cycle and clime;.
From Eternity’s Bard in the Poem of Time.

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William Ross Wallace