Power

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Power

Power that is not of God, however great,

Is but the downward rushing and the glare

Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share

In the one impulse which doth animate

The parent mass: emblem to me of fate!

Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare,

Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer⁠—

A moment brilliant, then most desolate!

And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn

From all the things we see continually

That pride is but the empty mockery

Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern

And sweet repose of soul which we can earn

Only through reverence and humility!