There is no God? If one should stand at noon
Where the glow rests, and the warm sunlight plays,
Where earth is gladdened by the cordial rays
And blossoms answering, where the calm lagoon
Gives back the brightness of the heart of June,
And he should say: 'There is no sun'--the day's
Fair shew still round him,--should we lose the blaze
And warmth, and weep that day has gone so soon?

Nay, there would be one word, one only thought,
'The man is blind!' and throbs of pitying scorn
Would rouse the heart, and stir the wondering mind.
We _feel_, and _see_, and therefore _know_,--the morn
With blush of youth ne'er left us till it brought
Promise of full-grown day. 'The man is blind!'