THE LEGEND OF JUBAL AND OTHER POEMS

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Сторінка 231 - MAY I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence : live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self. In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.
Сторінка 190 - Presentiment of better things on earth Sweeps in with every force that stirs our souls To admiration, self-renouncing love, Or thoughts, like light, that bind the world in one, — Sweeps like the sense of vastness, when at night We hear the roll and dash of waves that break Nearer and nearer with the rushing tide, Which rises to the level of the cliff Because the wide Atlantic rolls behind, Throbbing respondent to the far-off orbs.
Сторінка 200 - But sudden came the barge's pitch-black prow, Nearer and angrier came my brother's cry, And all my soul was quivering fear, when lo ! Upon the imperilled line, suspended high, A silver perch ! My guilt that won the prey, Now turned to merit, had a guerdon rich Of hugs and praises, and made merry play, Until my triumph reached its highest pitch When all at home were told the wondrous feat, And how the little sister had fished well. In secret, though my fortune tasted sweet, I wondered why this happiness...
Сторінка 233 - This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven ; be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love; Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense! So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.
Сторінка 214 - Where are those last two I lent thee for thy Judith ? — her thou saw'st In saffron gown, with Holofernes' head And beauty all complete ? " " She is but sketched ; I lack the proper model — and the mood. A great idea is an eagle's egg, Craves time for hatching ; while the eagle sits Feed her." " If thou wilt call thy pictures eggs I call the hatching, Work. 'Tis God gives skill, But not without men's hands : He could not make Antonio Stradivari's violins Without Antonio.
Сторінка 218 - Two parents by the evening fire : The red light fell about their knees On heads that rose by slow degrees Like buds upon the lily spire. O patient life ! O tender strife ! The two still sat together there, The red light shone about their knees ; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair. O voyage fast ! O vanished past ! The red light shone upon the floor And made the space between them wide ; They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, '...
Сторінка 197 - Thus rambling we were schooled in deepest lore, And learned the meanings that give words a soul, The fear, the love, the primal passionate store, Whose shaping impulses make manhood whole. Those hours were seed to all my after good...
Сторінка 232 - Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burthen of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better — saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love — That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its...
Сторінка 182 - Bitterly I feel that every change upon this earth Is bought with sacrifice. My yearnings fail To reach that high apocalyptic mount Which shows in bird's-eye view a perfect world, Or enter warmly into other joys Than those of faulty, struggling human kind. That strain upon my soul's too feeble wing Ends in ignoble floundering...
Сторінка 212 - May be : they are different. His quality declines : he spoils his hand With over-drinking. But were his the best, He could not work for two. My work is mine, And, heresy or not, if my hand slacked I should rob God — since He is fullest good — Leaving a blank instead of violins. I say, not God Himself can make man's best Without best men to help Him.

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