God is absence. God is the solitude of man.

There are men and women so lonely they believe God, too, is lonely.

It keeps eternal whisperings around desolate shores

O'er yonder eastern hill the twilight pale
Walks forth from darkness; and the God of day,
With bright Astraea seated by his side,
Waits yet to leave the ocean.

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream,
Through the dim wildernesses of the mind;
Through desert woods and tracts, which seem
Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

In the presence of God himself man stands always like a solitary tree in the wilderness.

Lonely — lonely on the shore —
Where the mighty waters roar,
Would that she could pass them o'er! Doth the maiden stand.

Lonely by the moonlit waters
Does the conqueror stand,
Yet unredden'd by the slaughters
Of his mighty band.
Yet his laurel wants a leaf.
There he stands, sad, silent, lonely ;
For his hope is vain :
He has reached that river only
To return again.

A mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of Thought, alone.

There are some people so lonely, they think God is lonely too-

His cold remains all naked to the sky,
On distant shores unwept, unburied lie.

Or maybe there was a god. Mine is the god of isolation, the god of the small voice, the god of the little spirit, of the earthworm and the friendly mouse, the hummingbird, the greenbottle fly and all things iridescent.

He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls, And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Never does the soul feel so far from human life as when a man finds himself alone in the vistas of the moon, either in the streets of a sleeping city, the avenues of the woods, or by the border of the sea. Earth, swayed perhaps by her powerful satellite, withdraws her sympathy from him and he wanders in a white void, wondering if he was born to be thus annulled.