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"Whom have I in heaven but thee?"

'Twere nought to me, yon glorious arch of night,
    Decked with the gorgeous blazonry of heaven,
If, to my faith, amid its splendors bright,
    No vision of the Eternal One were given;
I could but view a dreary, soulless waste--
    A vast expanse of solitude unknown;--
More cheerless for the splendors o'er it cast,
    For all its grandeur more intensely lone.

'Twere nought to me, this ever-changing scene
    Of earthly beauty, sunshine, and delight--
The wood's deep shadows and the valley's green,
    Morn's tender glow, and sunset's splendors bright--
Nought, if my Father smiled not from the sky,
    The cloud, the flower, the landscape, and the leaf;
My soul would pine 'mid Earth's vain pageantry,
    And droop in hopeless orphanage and grief.

'Twere nought to me, the Ocean's far expanse,
    If His perfections were not mirrored there,
Hopeless across the unmeasured waste I'd glance,
    And clasp my hands in anguish, not in prayer,
Nought, Nature's anthem, ever swelling up
    From Nature's myriad voices, for the hymn
Would breathe nor love, nor gratitude, nor hope,
    Robbed of the tones that speak to me of Him.

This wondrous universe, how less than nought
    Without my God--how desolate and drear!
A mockery Earth with her vain splendors fraught--
    A gilded pageant every rolling sphere;
The noonday sun with all his glories crowned,
    A sickly flame, would glimmer faint and pale;
And all Earth's melodies, their sweetness drowned,
    Be but the utt'rance of a funeral wail!

       - Mrs. J. C. Yule

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