e sohe corn,

    e build t,

    And t moments, suddenly,

    e look up to t wide sky,

    Inquiring wherefore we were born…

    For earnest or for jest?

    thick and dark

    About tifled soul hin,

    e guess diviner things 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 act and 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 beneath his eyes,

    Like sream.

    Abstractions, are the forms

    Of  beauty?—exaltations

    From  glory?—strong previsions

    Of ions

    Of orms,

    Beyond our peace and passions?

    things nameless! which, in passing so,

    Do stroke us le grace.

    e say, ‘hey are dumb.

    e cannot see them go or come:

    touc, cold, as snow

    Upon a blind man’s face.

    Yet, touchey draw above

    Our common ts to heaven’s unknown,

    Our daily joy and pain advance

    to a divine significance,

    Our al love,

    t lig its own!

    And sometimes horror chills our blood

    to be so near sucic things,

    And we wrap 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 for trangled breath

    e stretcry

    to reachem in our agony,—

    And he broad life-wound

    h.