James Gates Percival (1795–1856)

THE BLUE heaven spreads before me with its keen

And countless eyes of brightness,—worlds are there,—

The boldest spirit cannot spring, and dare

The peopled universe that burns between

This earth and nothing. Thought can wing its way

Swifter than lightning-flashes or the beam

That hastens on the pinions of the morn;

But quicker than the glowing dart of day

It tires, and faints along the starry stream,—

A wave of suns through countless ether borne,

Though infinite, eternal! yet one power

Sits on the Almighty Centre, whither tend

All worlds, and beings from time’s natal hour,

Till suns and all their satellites shall end.