I towered far, and lo! I stood within The presence of the Lord Most High, Sent thither by the sons of earth, to win Some answer to their cry.
--"The Earth, say'st thou? The Human race?
By Me created? Sad its lot?
Nay: I have no remembrance of such place:
Such world I fashioned not." -
--"O Lord, forgive me when I say Thou spak'st the word, and mad'st it all." -"The Earth of men--let me bethink me . . . Yea!
I dimly do recall "Some tiny sphere I built long back (Mid millions of such shapes of mine)So named . . . It perished, surely--not a wrack Remaining, or a sign?
"It lost my interest from the first, My aims therefor succeeding ill;Haply it died of doing as it durst?" -"Lord, it existeth still." -
"Dark, then, its life! For not a cry Of aught it bears do I now hear;Of its own act the threads were snapt whereby Its plaints had reached mine ear.
"It used to ask for gifts of good, Till came its severance self-entailed, When sudden silence on that side ensued, And has till now prevailed.
"All other orbs have kept in touch;
Their voicings reach me speedily:
Thy people took upon them overmuch In sundering them from me!
"And it is strange--though sad enough -
Earth's race should think that one whose call Frames, daily, shining spheres of flawless stuff Must heed their tainted ball! . . .
"But say'st thou 'tis by pangs distraught, And strife, and silent suffering? -Deep grieved am I that injury should be wrought Even on so poor a thing!
"Thou should'st have learnt that Not to Mend For Me could mean but Not to Know:
Hence, Messengers! and straightway put an end To what men undergo." . . .
Homing at dawn, I thought to see One of the Messengers standing by.
- Oh, childish thought! . . . Yet oft it comes to me When trouble hovers nigh.
