Power that is not of God, however great, <br />Is but the downward rushing and the glare <br />Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share <br />In the one impulse which doth animate <br />The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! <br />Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, <br />Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer- <br />A moment brilliant, then most desolate! <br />And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn <br />From all the things we see continually <br />That pride is but the empty mockery <br />Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern <br />And sweet repose of soul which we can earn <br />Only through reverence and humility!<br /><br />George MacDonald<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/power-44/
