Then, suddenly, through the mist that wrapped our sight,
An utterance fell, as of great waters flowing--
Slow, but with mightier accent ever growing
Around a blazing shaft of central light:
"Fallen! There is no downward plunge. The estate
Is high. Go!--roll thy plumb-line up, and ask
Thy Master for His measures, as the task
Is one that would the heavens triangulate,"
And so were compassed life's fine agonies;
By ranging hopes, and longings cut adrift
From earth's unstable shores; by faiths that spanned
Illimitable wastes and wrecking seas;
By noble strands of nature, scattered swift
From the white fingers of God's spacious hand.