God's Grandeur
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It
will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a
greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not
reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And
all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears
man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can
foot feel, being shod.
And for all this, nature is never
spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And
though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the
brown brink eastward, springs—
Because the Holy Ghost over the
bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.