Mont Blanc

He who looks upward from the vale by night,
When the clouds vanish and the winds are
stayed,
For ever finds, in Heaven's serenest height,
A space that hath no stars — a mighty shade —
A vacant form, immovably displayed,
Steep in the unstable vault. The planets droop
Behind it; the fleece-laden moonbeams fade;
The midnight constellations, troop by troop,
Depart and leave it with the dawn alone;
Uncomprehended yet, and hardly known
For finite, but by what it takes away
Of the east's purple deepening into day.
Still, for a time, it keeps its awful rest,
Cold as the prophet's pile on Carmel's crest:
Then falls the fire of God. — Far off or near,
Earth and the sea, wide worshipping, descry
That burning altar in the morning sky;
And the strong pines their utmost ridges rear,
Moved like a host, in angel-guided fear
And sudden faith. So stands the Providence
Of God around us; mystery of Love!
Obscure, unchanging, darkness and defence, —
Impenetrable and unmoved above
The valley of our watch; but which shall be
The light of Heaven hereafter, when the strife
Of wandering stars, that rules this night of life,
Dies in the dawning of Eternity.