In a Minister Garden: A Causerie

˹
E. Stock, 1902 - 192 ˹
 

Դ繨ҡ - ¹Ԩó

辺Ԩó 觢ŷ

Ѻ - ٷ

շ辺

˹ 113 - Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world.
˹ 58 - There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.
˹ 10 - But let my due feet never fail, To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
˹ 55 - Oh, the little more, and how much it is ! And the little less, and what worlds away ! How a sound shall quicken content to bliss, Or a breath suspend the blood's best play, And life be a proof of this ! XL.
˹ 91 - WHEN I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy, But I had Aladdin's lamp ; When I could not sleep for cold, I had fire enough in my brain, And builded, with roofs of gold, My beautiful castles in Spain ! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I 'd give all my lamps of silver bright.
˹ 168 - I saw her upon nearer view A spirit, yet a woman too ! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty ; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food : For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.
˹ 171 - Women,' long ago Sung by the morning star of song, who made His music heard below; Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath Preluded those melodious bursts that fill The spacious times of great Elizabeth With sounds that echo still.
˹ 59 - All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it by and by.
˹ 101 - O why and for what are we waiting? while our brothers droop and die, And on every wind of the heavens a wasted life goes by. How long shall they reproach us where crowd on crowd they dwell, Poor ghosts of the wicked city, the gold-crushed, hungry hell? Through squalid life they labored, in sordid grief they died, Those sons of a mighty mother, those props of England's pride.
˹ 113 - The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave To have dominion over sea and land; To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; To feel the passion...

óҹء