Emily Dickinson’s speaker makes a startling claim: her faith is larger than the hills, so when the hills decay, her faith must take the sun’s purple wheel and show it the way. At first this seems audacious, but the stakes soon become cosmic. She sees the sun step from the vane to the hill, then abroad to do his golden will. If his yellow feet miss, birds won’t rise, flowers slumber, and the bells of paradise fall silent. Suddenly the speaker grasps the weight of that “vast depends.” Her inner conviction is the rivet holding the bands of the firmament together. She asks how she can dare stint a faith that keeps the whole sky from falling apart. The mood is hushed, awed, almost frightened by such responsibility — the voice of someone who feels that her smallest doubt might unmake the world.
My Faith is larger than the Hills -- — Summary
My Faith is larger than the Hills -- So when the Hills decay -- My Faith must take the Purple Wheel To show the Sun the way --
'Tis first He steps upon the Vane -- And then -- upon the Hill -- And then abroad the World He go To do His Golden Will --
And if His Yellow feet should miss -- The Bird would not arise -- The Flowers would slumber on their Stems -- No Bells have Paradise --
How dare I, therefore, stint a faith On which so vast depends -- Lest Firmament should fail for me -- The Rivet in the Bands