God-Forgotten

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.