Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Minot JudsonSavage886 My Birth
I
In the dim æons of the past:
My cradle cosmic forces rocked,
And to my first was linked my last.
To weave the warp and woof of fate:
In my begetting were conjoined
The infinitely small and great.
The tiniest sand-grain of the earth,
The farthest thrill and nearest stir
Were not indifferent to my birth.
A little planet by the moon,
For me the continent arose,
For me the ocean roared its tune;
The electric force ran to and fro;
For me tribes wandered o’er the earth,
Kingdoms arose, and cities grew;
For me the ages garnered store;
For me ships traversed every sea;
For me the wise ones learned their lore;
Man struggled onward up the height,
On which, at last, from heaven falls
An ever clearer, broader light.
Nursed on the exhaustless breasts of time;
By heroes thrilled, by sages taught,
Sung to by bards of every clime.
Distilled at last from God’s own heart,
In me concentred now abides
Of all that is the subtlest part.
Heir of the future, then, am I:
So much am I divine that God
Cannot afford to let me die.
The farthest star its mate would miss,
And, looking after me, would fall
Down headlong darkening to the abyss.
If the All-Father ever nods,
That day across the heavens would fall
Ragnarok, twilight of the gods.