e sohe ,

        e build t,

        And t moments, suddenly,

        e look up to t wide sky,

        Inquiring wherefore we were born…

        For ear or for jest?

        thid dark

        About tifled soul hin,

        e guess divihings beyond,

        And yearn to th yearning fond;

        e strike out blindly to a mark

        Believed in, but not seen.

        e vibrate to t and thrill

        ernity has curled

        In serpent-t God’s seat;

        o ,

        In gradual growth his full-leaved will

        Expands from o world.

        And, in tumult and excess

        Of ad passion under sun,

        e sometimes    and far,

        As silver star did toucar,

        teousness

        t are done.

        God keeps eries

        Just on tside of man’s dream;

        In diapason slohink

        to heir pinions rise and sink,

        pure beh his eyes,

        Like sream.

        Abstras, are the forms

        Of    beauty?—exaltations

        From    glory?—strong previsions

        Of ions

        Of orms,

        Beyond our pead passions?

        things nameless! which, in passing so,

        Do stroke us le grace.

        e say, ‘hey are dumb.

        e ot see them go or e:

        touc, cold, as snow

        Upon a blind man’s face.

        Yet, touchey draw above

        Our on ts to heaven’s unknown,

        Our daily joy and pain advance

        to a divine significe,

        Our al love,

        t lig its own!

        And sometimes horror chills our blood

        to be so near sucic things,

        And we    round us for defence

        Our purple manners, moods of sense—

        As angels from the face of God

        Stand heir wings.

        And sometimes through life’s heavy swound

        e grope fled breath

        e stretcry

        to reachem in ony,—

        And he broad life-wound

        h.
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