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, who dost dwell alone,— -L Thou, who dost know thine own,Thou, to whom all are known From the cradle to the grave, —

Save, O save.

From the world's temptations,
From tribulations;
From that fierce anguish
Wherein we languish;
From that torpor deep
Wherein we lie asleep,
Heavy as death, cold as the grave;

Save, O save.

When the soul, growing clearer,
Sees God no nearer:
When the soul, mounting higher,
To God comes no nigher:
But the arch-fiend, Pride,
Mounts at her side,
Foiling her high emprise,
Sealing her eagle eyes,
And when she fain would soar,
Makes idols to adore;
Changing the pure emotion
Of her high devotion
To a skin-deep sense
Of her own eloquence:
Strong to deceive, strong to enslave, —
Save, O save.

From the ingrained fashion

Of this earthly nature

That mars thy creature;

From grief that is but passion;

From mirth that is but feigning;

From tears that bring no healing;

From wild and weak complaining;
Thine old strength revealing,
Save, O save.

From doubt where all is double:

Where wise men are not strong:

Where comfort turns to trouble:

Where just men suffer wrong,—

Where sorrow treads on joy:

Where sweet things soonest cloy:

Where faiths are built on dust:

Where Love is half mistrust; Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea; O, set us free.

O, let the false dream fly

Where our sick souls do lie

Tossing continually.

O, where thy voice doth come

Let all doubts be dumb:

Let all words be mild:

All strifes be reconciled:

All pains beguiled.
Light bring no blindness;
Love no unkindness;
Knowledge no ruin;
Fear no undoing.
From the cradle to the grave,
Save, O save.

Matthew Arnold


O SHAME upon thee, listless heart,
So sad a sigh to heave;
As if thy Saviour had no part

In thoughts that make thee grieve.

As if along His lonesome way

He had not borne for thee
Sad languors through the summer day,

Storms on the wintry sea.

Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;

The pure, calm hope be thine,
Which brightens, like the eastern morn,

As day's wild lights decline.

J. Kdle



LOOK westward, pensive little one,
How the bright hues together run,
Around where late the waning sun

Sank in his evening cloud.
Or eastward turn thee, and admire

How linger yet the showers of fire,
Deep in each fold, high on each spire
Of yonder mountain proud.

Thou seest it not: an envious screen,

A fluttering leaflet, floats between
Thee and that fair mysterious scene,

A veil too near thine eye.
One finger's breadth at hand will mar

A world of light in Heaven afar,
A mote eclipse a glorious star,

An eyelid hide the sky.

J. KMe





THEY sin who tell us love can die.
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.
In Heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell;
V *" Earthly, these passions are of earth,
They perish where they have their birth;

But love is indestructible,
Its holy flame forever burneth,
From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times opprest,

It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest;
It soweth here with toil, and care,
But the harvest-time of Love is there.
O, when a mother meets on high,

The babe she lost in infancy.
Hath she not then for pains, and fears,
The days of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight.

K. Southey

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