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النشر الإلكتروني

THE NEW YORK ELIC LIBRARY

GREATER THAN WE KNOW.

13

UNRECOGNIZED.

WHEN we have gone within the veil that hides

From mortal ken the lost of other days,

Amid the pure transparence of those rays Wherein, unseen, the Light of Life abides, Shall we indeed from out the luminous tides

Of spirits surging through those mystic ways Full surely know-oh, joy beyond all praise !Each waiting friend? So heart to heart confides Its secret pain. But one of clearest sight,

So questioned, answered: While we still are here Earth-pent, how often do we recognize, For what they are, the spirits pure and bright Close at our sides? How not for heaven fear When mortal vapors wrap in such disguise? JOHN WHITE CHADWICK.

GREATER THAN WE KNOW.

́E men who in the morn of youth defied

WE

The elements must vanish; be it so!

Enough if something from our hands have power

To live, to act, and serve the future hour;

And if, as toward the silent tomb we go,

Through love, through hope, and faith's transcendent

dower,

We feel that we are greater than we know.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

AFTER MANY DAYS.

TOT out of any cloud or sky

NOT

Will thy good come to prayer or cry.

Let the great forces, wise of old,

Have their whole way with thee,
Crumble thy heart from its hold,

Drown thy life in the sea.
And æons hence, some day,
The love thou gavest a child,
The dream in a midnight wild,
The word thou would'st not say,

Or in a whisper no one dared to hear,
Shall gladden earth and bring the golden year.
EDWARD ROWLAND SILL.

A MARCHING SONG.

ITH us the fields and rivers,

WITH

The grass that summer thrills,

The haze where morning quivers,

The peace at heart of hills,

The sense that kindles nature, and the soul that fills.

With us all natural sights,

All notes of natural scale;
With us the starry lights;

With us the nightingale;

With us the heart and secret of the worldly tale,

THE GREATEST GIFT.

The strife of things and beauty,
The fire and light adored,
Truth and life-lightening duty,

Love without crown or sword,

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That by his might and godhead makes man god and lord.

These have we, these are ours,
That no priests give nor kings;
The honey of all these flowers,

The heart of all these springs;

Ours, for where freedom lives not, there live no good

things.

Rise, ere the dawn be risen;
Come, and be all souls fed;

From field and street and prison

Come, for the feast is spread;

Live, for the truth is living; wake, for the night is dead.

ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE.

O

THE GREATEST GIFT.

No good is certain but the steadfast mind,

The undivided will to seek the good:
'Tis that compels the elements, and wrings
A human music from the indifferent air.
The greatest gift a hero leaves his race
Is to have been a hero.

GEORGE ELIOT.

THE MODERN RHYMER.

Now,

[OW, you who rhyme, and I who rhyme,
Have we not sworn it, many a time,

That we no more our verse would scrawl,
For Shakespeare he had sung it all;
And yet, whatever others see,
The earth is fresh to you and me;

And birds that sing, and winds that blow,
And blooms that make the country glow,
And lusty swains, and maidens bright,
And clouds by day, and stars by night,
And all the pictures in the skies
That moved before Will Shakespeare's eyes;
Love, hate, and scorn; frost, fire, and flower;
On us as well as him have power.

Go to our spirits shall not be laid,
Silenced and smothered by a shade.
Avon is not the only stream

Can make a poet sing and dream;
Nor are those castles, queens, and kings
The height of sublunary things.

Beneath the false moon's pallid glare,
By the cool fountain in the square
(This gray-green, dusty square they set
Where two gigantic highways met)
We hear a music rare and new,

Sweet Shakespeare, was not known to you!

You saw the new world's sun arise;

High up it shines in our own skies.

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