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ROW old along with me!

The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand

Who saith, “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God; see all, nor be

afraid !”

Rejoice we are allied

To That which doth provide
And not partake, effect and not receive!

A spark disturbs our clod ;

Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of His tribes that take, I must




Then, welcome each rebuff

That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, but go!

Be our joys three-parts pain!

Strive, and hold oheap the strain ; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge

the throe !

For thence,-a paradox

Which comforts while it mocks ---Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail ;

What I aspired to be

And was not, comforts me : A brute I might have been, but would not sink

i' the scale.

Not once beat “ Praise be Thine !

I see the whole design,
I, who saw Power, see now Love perfect too;

Perfect I call my plan :

Thanks that I was a man ! Maker, remake, complete.--I trust what Thou

shalt do!”




Not on the vulgar mass

Called “work,” must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price ;

O’er which, from level stand,

The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a

trice :

But all the world's coarse thumb

And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account;

All instincts immature,

All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the

man's amount:

Thoughts hardly to be packed

Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped ;

All I could never be,

All men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher




Ay, note that Potter's wheel,

That metaphor! and feel
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay,-

Thou to whom fools propound,

When the wine makes its round, “Since life fleets, all is change; the past gone, seize


Fool! All that is, at all,

Lasts ever, past recall ;
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure, -

What entered into thee,

That was, is, and shall be:
Time's wheel runs back or stops ; Potter and clay


He fixed thee midst this dance

Of plastic circumstance,
This present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest;

Machinery just meant

To give thy soul its bent,
Try then and turn thee forth, sufficiently im-




What though the earlier grooves

Which ran the laughing loves
Around thy base, no longer pause and press ?

What though, about thy rim,

Scull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner

stress ?

Look not thou down but up !

To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal,

The new wine's foaming flow,

The Master's lips aglow! Chou, heaven's consummate cup, what need’st thou

with earth's wheel ?

But I need now as then,

Thee, God, who mouldest men ;
And since, not even while the whirl was worst,

Did 1,—to the wheel of life

With shapes and colours rife, Bound dizzily,-mistake my end, to slake Thy


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