The Prospective Review: A Quarterly Journal of Theology and Literature, Том 6

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John Chapman, 1850
 

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Стр. 324 - 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...
Стр. 325 - So runs my dream : but what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry.
Стр. 324 - I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope through 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.
Стр. 331 - That friend of mine who lives in God, That God, which ever lives and loves, One God, one law, one element, And one far-off divine event, To which the whole creation moves.
Стр. 325 - Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
Стр. 330 - I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all.
Стр. 324 - 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...
Стр. 326 - Let her know her place ; She is the second, not the first. A higher hand must make her mild, If all be not in vain, and guide Her footsteps, moving side by side With Wisdom, like the younger child ; For she is earthly of the mind, But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
Стр. 328 - I wage not any feud with Death For changes wrought on form and face; No lower life that earth's embrace May breed with him, can fright my faith. Eternal process moving on, From state to state the spirit walks; And these are but the shatter'd stalks, Or ruin'd chrysalis of one.
Стр. 311 - 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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