Through Thy clear spaces, Lord, of old, <br />Formless and void the dead earth rolled; <br />Deaf to Thy heaven's sweet music, blind <br />To the great lights which o'er it shined; <br />No sound, no ray, no warmth, no breath,-- <br />A dumb despair, a wandering death. <br /> <br />To that dark, weltering horror came <br />Thy spirit, like a subtle flame,-- <br />A breath of life electrical, <br />Awakening and transforming all, <br />Till beat and thrilled in every part <br />The pulses of a living heart. <br /> <br />Then knew their bounds the land and sea; <br />Then smiled the bloom of mead and tree; <br />From flower to moth, from beast to man, <br />The quick creative impulse ran; <br />And earth, with life from thee renewed, <br />Was in thy holy eyesight good. <br /> <br />As lost and void, as dark and cold <br />And formless as that earth of old; <br />A wandering waste of storm and night, <br />Midst spheres of song and realms of light; <br />A blot upon thy holy sky, <br />Untouched, unwarned of thee, am I. <br /> <br />O Thou who movest on the deep <br />Of spirits, wake my own from sleep <br />Its darkness melt, its coldness warm, <br />The lost restore, the ill transform, <br />That flower and fruit henceforth may be <br />Its grateful offering, worthy Thee.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/invocation-15/
