The poetical works of Alfred Tennyson. [Vol.8,9 are of the 1878 ed. With] The dramatic works [&c.].

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˹éÒ 70 - Oh yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete...
˹éÒ 72 - The wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life...
˹éÒ 73 - I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.
˹éÒ 191 - Nor thro' the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun : If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice ' ' believe no more " And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep ; A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answer'd
˹éÒ 61 - THE baby new to earth and sky, What time his tender palm is prest Against the circle of the breast, Has never thought that " this is I :" But as he grows he gathers much, And learns the use of "I," and "me," And finds "I am not what I see, And other than the things I touch.
˹éÒ 8 - A hand that can be clasp'd no more — Behold me, for I cannot sleep, And like a guilty thing I creep At earliest morning to the door. He is not here; but far away The noise of life begins again, And ghastly through the drizzling rain On the bald street breaks the blank day.
˹éÒ 63 - That each, who seems a separate whole, Should move his rounds, and fusing all The skirts of self again, should fall Remerging in the general Soul, Is faith as vague as all unsweet. Eternal form shall still divide The eternal soul from all beside; And I shall know him when we meet; And we shall sit at endless feast, Enjoying each the other's good.
˹éÒ 4 - I SOMETIMES hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel ; For words, like Nature, half reveal And half conceal the Soul within.

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