I, who have lost the stars, the sod, For chilling pave and cheerless light, Have made my meeting-place with God A new and nether Night —
Have found a fane where thunder fills Loud caverns, tremulous; — and these Atone me for my reverend hills And moonlit silences.
A figment in the crowded dark, Where men sit muted by the roar, I ride upon the whirring Spark Beneath the city's floor.
In this dim firmament, the stars Whirl by in blazing files and tiers; Kin meteors graze our flying bars, Amid the spinning spheres.
Speed! speed! until the quivering rails Flash silver where the head-light gleams, As when on lakes the Moon impales The waves upon its beams.
Life throbs about me, yet I stand Outgazing on majestic Power; Death rides with me, on either hand, In my communion hour.
You that 'neath country skies can pray, Scoff not at me — the city clod; — My only respite of the Day Is this wild ride — with God.