Grains Of Sand

The world is rolling on upon
Its pathless way, swinging slow, slow.
Humankind teems her crust, trickling
Like sand from a glass across her pathways.
Nations raise their puny wrath,
Smiting the silent sky. The sand is troubled,
Intermingled, and once more goeth on
Upon its constant flowing.
The rubbing of grain on grain chafeth forth agony,
And the mighty moaning is unto the universe-
But the whirring of a gnat's wing.
Suns roll lollingly about within the ether,
And the stars cling unto their raiment like
Little crystal bubbles unto the crests of waves.
Ages roll forward and recede,
And the bubbles burst, mayhap?-
And still the sands pour!
Where is he who hath lifted
His voice, inquiring of God?