II

When God smote His hands together, and struck

                  out thy soul as a spark,

Into the organised glory of things, from deeps of

                  the dark,—

Say, didst thou shine, didst thou burn, didst thou

                  honour the power in the form,

As the star does at night, or the fire-fly, or even the

                  little ground-worm?

                              "I have sinned," she said,

                              "For my seed-light shed

                  Has smouldered away from His first decrees!

The cypress praiseth the fire-fly, the ground-leaf

                  praiseth the worm:

                        I am viler than these!"