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Smith, Elder, 1887 - 356 pages

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Page 353 - Beneath Thy throne, and stars most silver-paced Along the inferior gyres, and open-faced Melodious angels...
Page 338 - I TELL you, hopeless grief is passionless ; That only men incredulous of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the absolute Heavens.
Page 320 - GODS of Hellas, gods of Hellas, Can ye listen in your silence ? Can your mystic voices tell us Where ye hide ? In floating islands, With a wind that evermore Keeps you out of sight of shore? Pan, Pan is dead.
Page 239 - are very weak ! ' Few paces have we taken, yet are weary — Our grave-rest is very far to seek. Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children ; For the outside earth is cold ; And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering. And the graves are for the old.
Page 340 - WHAT are we set on earth for? Say, to toil ; Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. God did anoint thee with His odorous oil, To wrestle, not to reign ; and He assigns All thy tears over, like pure crystallines, For younger fellow-workers of the soil To wear for amulets. So others shall Take patience...
Page 242 - But no!" say the children, weeping faster, "He is speechless as a stone; And they tell us, of His image is the master, Who commands us to work on. Go to!
Page 241 - Who is God that He should hear us, While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word ! And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door : Is it likely God, with angels singing round him, Hears our weeping any more ? x "Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And at midnight's hour of harm — ' Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.
Page 136 - And Goethe, with that reaching eye His soul reached out from, far and high, And fell from inner entity.
Page 300 - The happy children come to us And look up in our faces; They ask us ' Was it thus, and thus, When we were in their places ? ' We cannot speak; — we see anew The hills we used to live in, And feel our mother's smile press through The kisses she is giving. Be pitiful, O God...
Page 191 - Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness, — Round our restlessness, His rest.

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