Lomonossov.

O man! whose weakness dares rebel Against the Almighty’s strength, draw nigh And listen, for my tongue shall tell His message from the clouded sky. Midst rain, and storm, and hail, he spoke, Around the piercing thunder broke; At his proud word the clouds disperse, And thus he shakes the universe: ‘Come forth, then, in thy pride and power— Come answer me, thou son of earth! Where wert thou in that distant hour When first I gave creation birth? When all the mountain’s heights were rear’d, When all the heavenly hosts appear’d, My wisdom and my strength’s display? Man! let thy towering wisdom say! ‘Where wert thou when the stars, new born, Sprung into light at my command, And fill’d the bounds of eve and morn, And sung the intelligence that plann’d Their course sublime? When first the sun On wings of glory had begun His race, and oceans of pure light Wafted mild Luna through the night. ‘Who bid the ascending mountains rise? Who fix’d the boundary of the sea? Who, when the waves attack’d the skies, Confined their furious revelry? The caverns hid in darkness I Unveil’d—my breath of majesty Dispersed the gathering mists—my hand Divided ocean from the land. ‘Say, canst thou bid the morning dawn At earlier hour than I have given,— Or water the rain-thirsty lawn When I have shut the gates of heaven? Canst thou a favouring breeze prepare To waft the anxious mariner; Or guide this earthly ball—to crush The vile—and the tumultuous hush? ‘Say, hast thou scaled the mountain’s height, Or sounded ocean’s vast abyss; Or measured all that infinite Immensity that o’er thee is? Or couldst thou ever penetrate Those clouds so dark, so desolate, That round death’s midnight-portal dwell? Or dive into the depth of hell? ‘Couldst thou with tempests fill the cloud, The glory of the sun to hide; And in yon bright cerulean shroud The lightning and the watery tide: With swiftly-gathering fiery flash, And with the mountain-shaking crash, Tear earth’s foundations up, and show What dust is thy poor world below? ‘Tell me, thou scrutinizing mind, Who leads the eagle’s flight sublime? His pinions are the mighty wind, His path beyond or earth or time; Far o’er the sea, on some tall rock, He looks upon the surge’s shock. Who could his craving wants supply? Who gave him that sun-dazzling eye? ‘Look at the awful behemoth— Read there, vain man! my power’s display: Go! see him trample, in his wrath, The thorny forests in his way. His veins are hard as cables—try With him thy arm of potency! His ribs are brass—his giant horn Puts all thy boastful strength to scorn. ‘Go! hook the huge leviathan, And draw him subject to the shore; The ocean is his kingdom—man! His course, the boundless waters o’er: The scales upon his sides are bright As silver shields in Luna’s light: He sees, in mockery, frowning lord! Thy threatening spear and sharpen’d sword. ‘A millstone is his heart—his row Of teeth like sickles, threat’ning still: Who shall attack him—hero! who? He waits the strife with ready will. He basks him in the sunny beam On the sharp rock—’tis smooth to him— His strong impenetrable mass Sleeps as it were on sand or grass. ‘When he prepares him for the fray, The ocean like a furnace gleams; The thundering surges mark his way, His anger like a caldron steams; His eyes with burning fury roll, As in a forge the scarlet coal. All fly before him—“Who shall stand Before my frown, when I command?” ‘When my high will creation’s plan And self-supported wisdom drew, Did I consult thee, feeble man! To tell me what my hand should do? Why didst thou not my purpose check, Thou who wert then an atom speck, And say, when I was framing thee, “Why art thou thus creating me?”’ Insolent mortal!—bow thy head: God’s wisdom and God’s goodness trace; In the safe path He marks thee—tread— ’Tis He who fix’d thy earthly place; And joy and grief alike are given To lead thee on thy way to heaven: Then hope and bear—in patience bear— And throw on Him thy woe, thy care.

O’er the wide earth yon torch of heavenly light Its splendour spreads, and God’s proud works unveils; My soul, enraptured at the marvellous sight, Unwonted peace, and joy, and wonder feels, And with uplifted thoughts of ecstasy Exclaims, ‘How great must their Creator be!’ O, if a mortal’s power could stretch so high— If mortal sight could reach that glorious sun, And look undazzled at its majesty, ’Twould seem a fiery ocean burning on From time’s first birth, whose ever-flaming ray Could ne’er extinguish’d be by time’s decay. There waves of fire ’gainst waves of fire are dashing, And know no bounds; there hurricanes of flame, As if in everlasting combat flashing, Roar with a fury which no time can tame: There molten mountains boil like ocean-waves, And rain in burning streams the welkin laves. But in Thy presence all is but a spark, A little spark: that wond’rous orb was lighted By Thy own hand, the dreary and the dark Pathway of man to cheer—of man benighted; To guide the march of seasons in their way, And place us in a paradise of day. Dull night her sceptre sways o’er plains and hills, O’er the dark forest and the foaming sea; Thy wond’rous energy all nature fills, And leads our thoughts, and leads our hopes to Thee. How great is God! a million tongues repeat, And million tongues re-echo, ‘God, how great!’ But now again the day-star bursts the gloom, Scattering its sunshine o’er the opening sky; Thy eye, that pierces even through the tomb, Has chased the clouds, has bid the vapours fly; And smiles of light, descending from above, Bathe all the universe with joy and love.

The day retires, the mists of night are spread Slowly o’er nature, darkening as they rise; The gloomy clouds are gathering round our head, And twilight’s latest glimmering gently dies: The stars awake in heaven’s abyss of blue; Say, who can count them?—who can sound it?—who? Even as a sand in the majestic sea, A diamond-atom on a hill of snow, A spark amidst a Hecla’s majesty, An unseen mote where maddened whirlwinds blow, Am I midst scenes like these—the mighty thought O’erwhelms me—I am nought, or less than nought. And science tells me that each twinkling star, That smiles above us, is a peopled sphere, Or central sun, diffusing light afar; A link of nature’s chain:—and there, even there The Godhead shines display’d—in love and light, Creating wisdom—all-directing might. Where are thy secret laws, O nature! where? In wintry realms thy dazzling torches blaze, And from thy icebergs streams of glory there Are pour’d, while other suns their splendent race In glory run: from frozen seas what ray Of brightness?—from yon realms of night what day? Philosopher, whose penetrating eye Reads nature’s deepest secrets, open now This all-inexplicable mystery: Why do earth’s darkest, coldest regions glow With lights like these?—O tell us, knowing one, For thou dost count the stars, and weigh the sun. Whence are these varied lamps all lighted round? Whence all the horizon’s glowing fire?—the heaven Is splendent as with lightning—but no sound Of thunder—all as calm as gentlest even; And winter’s midnight is as bright, as gay, As the fair noontide of a summer’s day. What stores of fire are these, what magazine, Whence God from grossest darkness light supplies? What wond’rous fabric which the mountains screen, Whose bursting flames above those mountains rise; Where rattling winds disturb the mighty ocean, And the proud waves roll with eternal motion? Vain is the inquiry—all is darkness—doubt: This earth is one vast mystery to man. First find the secrets of this planet out, Then other planets, other systems scan; Nature is veil’d from thee, presuming clod! And what canst thou conceive of Nature’s God?