Abraham and His Gods

BENEATH the full-eyed Syrian moon,

The Patriarch, lost in reverence, raised

His consecrated head, and soon

He knelt and worshipped while he gazed:

“Surely that glorious Orb on high

Must be the Lord of earth and sky.”

Slowly towards its central throne

The glory rose, yet paused not there

But seemed by influence not its own

Drawn downwards through the western air

Until it wholly sunk away,

And the soft Stars had all the sway.

Then to the hierarchy of light,

With face upturned the sage remained—

“At least Ye stand forever bright—

Your power has never waxed or waned!”

Even while he spoke, their work was done

Drowned in the overflowing Sun.

Eastward he bent his eager eyes—

“Creatures of Night! false gods and frail!

Take not the worship of the wise;

There is the Deity we hail.

Fountain of light, and warmth, and love

He only bears our hearts above.”

Yet was that One—that radiant One

Who seemed so absolute a King,

Only ordained his round to run

And pass like each created thing;

He rested not in noonday prime

But fell beneath the strength of time.

Then like one laboring without hope

To bring his toil to fruitful end,

And powerless to discern the scope

Whereto his aspirations tend,

Still Abraham prayed day and night

“God! Teach me to what God to pray.”

Nor long in vain; an inward Light

Arose to which the sun is pale.

The knowledge of the Infinite,

The sense of Truth that must prevail:—

The presence of the only Lord

By angels and by men adored.