Repose.

A mossy footfall in this wood             A peal of thunder were,         Or autumn tempest-shriek, compared             With the unwhispered stir         Of massy fluids lift in air,         To build these leafy pillars fair.         Lavished at wordless wish or mute             Command, the chemic wealth         Upsprings to meet the builders' hands,             All hushed as dusky stealth.         Noiseless as love, as silent prayer         Mysterious, the builders are.         Ah, sure, these silences are works             Of God's sabbatic rest,         A music perfect as the calm             Of wave's unbroken crest!         These woven leaves that stilly nod,         These violets, ope their eyes on God.         The deep serene that worketh here             Works, too, 'mid human tears;         A thousand years as one day is,             One day a thousand years.         Fell death still thunders at his task,         But death the peace of God doth mask.