Public Domain Poetry And Stories - The Living Temple by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Public domain poetry and public domain stories from the literary greats of yesteryear.
Main Menu

Home

Latest Poetry

Latest Authors

Authors Surname

Authors First Name

Poetry Title

Poetry First Lines

Latest Stories

Stories Title

Top Authors

Top Poetry


Top Stories Etc.

Search

Contact Us

Useless Information!!

Store



Top Sites, Click here to vote for our site

Sponsored Links

Read, Rate, Comment on or Submit your poetry

The Living Temple

    By Oliver Wendell Holmes



    Not in the world of light alone,
    Where God has built his blazing throne,
    Nor yet alone in earth below,
    With belted seas that come and go,
    And endless isles of sunlit green,
    Is all thy Maker's glory seen:
    Look in upon thy wondrous frame, -
    Eternal wisdom still the same!

    The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves
    Flows murmuring through its hidden caves,
    Whose streams of brightening purple rush,
    Fired with a new and livelier blush,
    While all their burden of decay
    The ebbing current steals away,
    And red with Nature's flame they start
    From the warm fountains of the heart.

    No rest that throbbing slave may ask,
    Forever quivering o'er his task,
    While far and wide a crimson jet
    Leaps forth to fill the woven net
    Which in unnumbered crossing tides
    The flood of burning life divides,
    Then, kindling each decaying part,
    Creeps back to find the throbbing heart.

    But warmed with that unchanging flame
    Behold the outward moving frame,
    Its living marbles jointed strong
    With glistening band and silvery thong,
    And linked to reason's guiding reins
    By myriad rings in trembling chains,
    Each graven with the threaded zone
    Which claims it as the master's own.

    See how yon beam of seeming white
    Is braided out of seven-hued light,
    Yet in those lucid globes no ray
    By any chance shall break astray.
    Hark how the rolling surge of sound,
    Arches and spirals circling round,
    Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear
    With music it is heaven to hear.

    Then mark the cloven sphere that holds
    All thought in its mysterious folds;
    That feels sensation's faintest thrill,
    And flashes forth the sovereign will;
    Think on the stormy world that dwells
    Locked in its dim and clustering cells!
    The lightning gleams of power it sheds
    Along its hollow glassy threads!

    O Father! grant thy love divine
    To make these mystic temples thine!
    When wasting age and wearying strife
    Have sapped the leaning walls of life,
    When darkness gathers over all,
    And the last tottering pillars fall,
    Take the poor dust thy mercy warms,
    And mould it into heavenly forms!



Extra Info:



Printable Page

Add Your Thoughts on this poem.



This page viewed 405 times.
Sponsored Links


Your Shops - Affordable Ecommerce stores and cheaper goods for customers - No listing fees!



Our Sites