Repose

A mossy footfall in this wood
            A peal of thunder were,
        Or autumn tempest-shriek, compared
            With the unwhispered stir
        Of massy fluids lift in air,
        To build these leafy pillars fair.

        Lavished at wordless wish or mute
            Command, the chemic wealth
        Upsprings to meet the builders' hands,
            All hushed as dusky stealth.
        Noiseless as love, as silent prayer
        Mysterious, the builders are.

        Ah, sure, these silences are works
            Of God's sabbatic rest,
        A music perfect as the calm
            Of wave's unbroken crest!
        These woven leaves that stilly nod,
        These violets, ope their eyes on God.

        The deep serene that worketh here
            Works, too, 'mid human tears;
        A thousand years as one day is,
            One day a thousand years.
        Fell death still thunders at his task,
        But death the peace of God doth mask.