The Sentinels Of God

If thou shouldst demand of me:
"Show me then God's sentinels,
His pledge-keepers with man,"
I should fall fearful before the task
An instant e'er I bestirred me unto action.
In the hours of light and shadow,
In the duty of sentinelship,
Who is most faithful, yea, or what?
Man plays at faith with God,
Shuttling his faith with doubt, weaving
A dubious cloth. He plays not sentinel
Who guards not well his own doubt.
The birds, seeking in the morning
The upward climb, spilling their song,
At eve forget and leave another host
To sing this even song.
Not sentinels are they! Nay!
Shouldst thou demand: "Show me
The sentinel," I should say: "Come,
Yon is a garden spot
Where columbine hangs fainting
In sweetness, where primrose nestles,
And hyacinths stand purpling the border ways."