THE DWELLING-PLACE OF THOUGHT

HON. CLARENCE A. BUSKIRK.

Large and round the golden moon
Moves a lake of clouds aboon,
And the clouds like waves of lace
Drift against the planet's face,
While a lone star shining nigh
Gems a rift of azure sky.

And is mortal man the being
Who the loveliness is seeing
Of the planets in their places,
In the empyrean spaces?
Is it he whose fancy hears
The vast music of the spheres?

What is that which hears and sees
Those celestial mysteries?
Lumps of clay as ears and eyes,
Dust as brain of pygmy size?
Senseless dust, soon dust again,
Shaped as ears and eyes and brain?

Thought unbodied takes its flight
Through the boundless realms of light;
All infinitude can roam
As its birthplace and its home.
God's great universe is sought
For the dwelling-place of thought,
Not its origin and birth
The insensate dust of earth.