How far soe'er thou wanderest from His law,
The gift of God we reverence in thee,
Painting thy thought in gorgeous pageantry,
To thrill the soul with ecstacy and awe-
Now with voluptuous syllables to draw
Remorseful tears; now, like the wintry sea,
All tempest-tongued, in midnight majesty,
Dread as the void primeval darkness saw.
For, since Titanic Milton smote the sky,
And echoes in the depths responsive found
Of chaos and the howling gates of hell,
No messenger of song hath soared so high,
Nor strewn with ranker luxury the ground,
Than thou, that singest of the worst so well.