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Page 5457 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; — The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Page 5458 - DAYS DAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
Page 5458 - The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken ; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak; or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost.
Page 5419 - MAY I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence...
Page 5450 - What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think. This rule, equally arduous in actual and in intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it.
Page 5463 - Lit by the supersolar blaze. Past utterance, and past belief, And past the blasphemy of grief, The mysteries of Nature's heart ; And though no Muse can these impart, Throb thine with Nature's throbbing breast, And all is clear from east to west.
Page 5448 - Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string. Accept the place the divine Providence has found for you; the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events. Great men have always done so and confided themselves childlike to the genius of their age, betraying their perception that the Eternal was stirring at their heart, working through their hands, predominating in all their being.
Page 5462 - Star by star his world resigning. 0 child of paradise, Boy who made dear his father's home, In whose deep eyes Men read the welfare of the times to come, 1 am too much bereft. The world dishonored thou hast left. O truth's and Nature's costly lie! O trusted broken prophecy! 0 richest fortune sourly crossed! Born for the future, to the future lost!
Page 5450 - If malice and vanity wear the coat of philanthropy, shall that pass? If an angry bigot assumes this bountiful cause of Abolition, and comes to me with his last news from Barbadoes, why should I not say to him, " Go, love thy infant; love thy wood-chopper; be goodnatured and modest; have that grace; and never varnish your hard, uncharitable ambition with this incredible tenderness for black folk a thousand miles off. Thy love afar is spite at home.