The Poet and The Poor

The Poet and The Poor

God said, "Let there be light!"
Grim darkness felt his might,

    And fled away:

Then startled seas, and mountains cold
Shone forth all bright in blue and gold,

And cried, "Tis day! tis day!"

"Hail, holy light!" exclaim'd
The thunderous crowd that flamed

O'er daisies white;

And lo! the rose in crimson dress'd,
Lean'd sweetly on the lilly's breast,

And blushing, murmured "Light!"

Then was the sky-lark born;

Then rose the embattled corn;

    The floods of praise

Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon.

And thin in stillness night, the moon

Poured forth her pensive lays,

Lo! heaven's bright bow is glad!

    In glory bloom!

And shall the moral sons of God
Be senseless as the trodden clod,
And darker than the tomb?

No, from the mind of man!

From the swart artisan!

From God, our sire!

Our souls have holy light within,
And every form of grief and sin

Shall see and feel its fire.

By earth, and hell, and heaven,

The shroud of souls is risen!

    Mind, mind alone,

Is light, and hope, and life, and power;
Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour,

The night of mind is gone.

Ebenezer Elliot

1:44, p. 4

1837.11.04

From the Southern Churchman

Ebenezer Elliot, "a poor Iron dealer of Sheffield, sprung from the lowest ranks, in astonishing the world by strains worthy of a Burns. The following "comparison of the outward and visible glories of creation, with the prospects which are opening on society from the light of knowledge," is extracted from one of his recent productions."