How high is heaven; which way is up,
Our empyrean Sun ablaze with light,
Yet the pure fire of heaven,
Is out of sight.
Some light gives vision,
But blinds if bright,
Leaving faiths decision,
For the dark of night.
In the empyreal of heat,
And exploding rock,
Our quaint imaginings,
Doth mystery, mock.
While mortal man,
His weapons cock.