Page:Poems, Household Edition, Emerson, 1904.djvu/104

68 With its stars of northern fire,

In many a thousand years?

Gentle pilgrim, if thou know

The gamut old of Pan,

And how the hills began,

The frank blessings of the hill

Fall on thee, as fall they will.

Let him heed who can and will;

Enchantment fixed me here

To stand the hurts of time, until

In mightier chant I disappear.

If thou trowest

How the chemic eddies play,

Pole to pole, and what they say;

And that these gray crags

Not on crags are hung,

But beads are of a rosary

On prayer and music strung;

And, credulous, through the granite seeming,

Seest the smile of Reason beaming;—

Can thy style-discerning eye

The hidden-working Builder spy,

Who builds, yet makes no chips, no din,

With hammer soft as snowflake's flight;—

Knowest thou this?

O pilgrim, wandering not amiss!