J. L. Stoddard

“ In myriad suns that constellations frame,
⁠Round which life-freighted satellites revolve,
Like those unnumbered orbs which nightly creep
In dim procession o'er the azure steep,
As white-winged caravans the desert sweep?
Or art thou still an incandescent mass,
⁠Acquiring form as hostile forces urge,
Through whose vast, length a million lightnings pass
⁠As to and fro its fiery billows surge—
Whose glowing atoms, whirled in ceaseless strife
Where now chaotic anarchy is rife,
Shall yet become the fair abodes of life?
We know not ”