To Nature

DREAD force, in whom of old we loved to see
A nursing mother, clothing with her life
The seeds of Love divine, — with what sore strife
We hold or yield our thoughts of Love and thee!
Thou art not ' calm,' but restless as the ocean,
Filling with aimless toil the endless years —
Stumbling on thought and throwing off the spheres,
Churning the Universe with mindless motion.
Dull fount of joy, unhallowed source of tears,
Cold motor of our fervid faith and song,
Dead, but engendering life, love, pangs, and fears,
Thou crownedst thy wild work with foulest wrong
When first thou lightedst on a seeming goal
And darkly blundered on man's suffering soul