posted on: Thursday October 1, 2015
by Jonathan Coppe ’18
Before my eyes there roll, a sky apart,
The clouds, which hang so low they tempt the touch
As if a man by his sheer will
Could breach the sky and by his hand fulfill
The jubilant wondrous dreams that fill the heart,
As if, propelled by wonder, he could rise
And claim dominion o’er the great white plumes
And in one moment rule the air,
With all its tempests, gales, and weather fair,
And make his habitation in the skies.
Such thoughts of mighty work consume my ink
As are beyond the hope of men to dream.
Some men will do great things in turns
While yet my hand can only craft these words
And little more. And yet there is to think:
That these enormous creatures overhead,
Which billow through and in their might strike awe,
Are little more than dust and weakness frail
Before the strength of that Almighty Finger
Who drew into the sky the moon and stars.