Oh, pity, pity him
For whom the universe speaks
Yet only of futility;
Who only sees the second law of thermodynamics
Inexorable –
All suns dying of a slow, slow death,
Then nothingness;
Who sees the nebula only as a splintered sphere
The big bang before its final whimpering!
Oh pity him who cries,
“The world is dew,
And yet…
And yet…”
If all that rules the universe
Is chance, mere chance,
Why sing a lullaby for a new born babe?
Why rage against the dying of the sun?
Oh weep, weep for him
For whom the firmaments proclaim
No god at all,
Not even man!
“The heavens proclaim the glory of God…”
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 12:36 PM UTC
Oh, pity, pity him
For whom the universe speaks
Yet only of futility;
Who only sees the second law of thermodynamics
Inexorable –
All suns dying of a slow, slow death,
Then nothingness;
Who sees the nebula only as a splintered sphere
The big bang before its final whimpering!
Oh pity him who cries,
“The world is dew,
And yet…
And yet…”
If all that rules the universe
Is chance, mere chance,
Why sing a lullaby for a new born babe?
Why rage against the dying of the sun?
Oh weep, weep for him
For whom the firmaments proclaim
No god at all,
Not even man!
“The heavens proclaim the glory of God…”
I wrote this as a young Christian at the same time I wrote my poem "Quiet Time" in which I lament the futility of a life without God.
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