POETRY.
"QUID, SI MUNDUS EVOLVATUR ?"
Is there no Pilot's hand that guides Yon gallant ship to thread her way From Thames or Hudson to Cathay, Though tossed the seeming sport of winds and tides?
Doth Hazard shape the spiral course Of Cosmos ? Even if it seem bent By many a " trivial incident ?"
The Hand that steers laid all the springs of Force !
Lo ! from the damask-loom of France Swiftly evolves the flowery weft ; Deem you no hand of artist deft
Prepared the warp, or come those hues by chance.?
No threads symmetric meet our view Where crossed and blending powers, like flame, Shoot thwart this vast vibrating frame, But yet they weave the pattern Wisdom drew!
The minstrel's strain may swell or bend To chances of his mood or lyre, But if 'tis kindled with true fire, A theme of purpose thrills from end to end !
We may not scan like mortal's lay The mighty metres that rehearse The Epos of the Universe, But yet the Great Palates makes alway !
Our grandsires sang in pious lauds,
" God moves in a mysterious way ;" Yea, wondrous, far beyond what they Conceived ! Is it too wondrous to be God's ?
MARCUS PAULUS. VENETIIS..
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