Poem April 10, 1915 Issue

A million torches, lighted by Thy hand,...

Derzhavin

A million torches, lighted by Thy hand,
Wander unwearied through the blue abyss;
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command—
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light—
A glorious company of golden streams—
Lamps of celestial ether, burning bright—
Sun-lighting systems, with their joyous beams;
But Thou to these art as the moon to night.

Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in Thee is lost.
What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
And what am I, then? Heaven's unnumbered host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance weighed
Against Thy greatness. Is a cipher brought
Against infinity. What am I, then? Thine.

Derzhavin, a Russian poet.]

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