Harlow Shapley at Fifty: 1885 - 1935

Where lies the border,
    The bound of all being?

This is man's question
    Since throught followed seeing.

He views from his hilltop
    The snow-crested summit;

The foot of no mortal
    Ever hath clomb it.

But look! high above it
    Fload the cloud pinions--

Surely the cope of
    All Mansouls's dominions.

But why should men falter?
    The blue sky is higher--

By day and by night
    Bejewelled with fire,

But all at one distance--
    So demed men for ages,

Till newness of meaning
    Dawned on our sages.

The heavenly splendors
    Flamed farther, flamed nigher;

All wheeled, yet a few were
    A wandering choir.

And these were the nearest,
    But long generations

Must pass ere men reckoned
    Their several stations.

But what of the farthest,
    The fixt in their motion?

Did they mark the bound
    Of the cosmical ocean?

And Space, had it confines?
    What was there could end

Save only some barrier
    That could but extend it?

But all it encloses,
    What was there to ban it

From knowledge of mortals--
    Star, fire-mist or planet? 

Nay, he whom we honor tonight
    Hath expanded

Our Galaxy's bounds
    Till the Cosmos commanded

By vision of sages
    In faith's high devotion

Is lost as an isle
    In its infinite ocean.

Yea, beyond and beyond
    He hath dared his espial;

Though Thought itself faints,
    Will accepts no denial;

Though galaxies multiply
    Past computation,

Awhirl in the forces
    Of endless creation.

Yet the very abundance
    Of systems about him,

Orbs crowding on orbs,
    Are in complot to flout

And a hindrance diffusive
    Bewilders man's vision--

The dust of his Cosmos
    Defeating precision.

But he whom we honor
    And prize, not for durance

Of days, but their fulness,
    Hath given us assurance,

Hath found out a window,
    A heavenly portal, 

Through which he beholds,
    He, the earliest mortal,

Unveiled, the Beyond,
    And his viewin its clearness

Well-nigh hath transmuted
    Its farness to nearness.

With what he reveals
    He fires men's amazement--

Lone Watcher before
    His galactical casement,

The Lords of the Vast
    Ope their seven-sealed pages--

The Warders of Distance,
    The guards of the Ages.

But stands he exalted
    By pride of his station?

Nay, too well he kens
    His powers' limitation.

He knows that all knowledge
    Man's wit e'er shall muster

Is but as a dust-mote
    Beside a star-cluster.

So humbled, yet true
    To the office assigned him,

He holds every gain
    But a goal left behind him.

His look still is forward,
    His faith falters never

THAT TRUTH GROWS WITH KNOWING
    FOR EVER AND EVER.

Read before the meeting of the Skyscrapers Amateur Astronomical Society, November 6, 1935.