God, God!
ith a child’s voice I cry,
eak, sad, confidingly—
God, God!
t, eyelids, raised not always up
Unto thy love (as none of ours are), droop
As ours, o’er many a tear!
t, thy universe is broad,
ttle tears suffice to cover all:
t, t so prodigal
Of beauty, but stricken deer
Expiring in t care for none
Of tsome flohey die upon.
O blissful Mouth
e name our souls, self-spoilt!—by t strong passion
strong death
he wrack
them back,
Back to tinuous aspiration!
For here, O Lord,
For ravel vainly,—vainly pass
From city-pavement to untrodden sward,
in the grass
Cold dew. Yea, very vain
test speed of all these souls of men
Unless travel upo throne
test tisfying ONE,
itings
For all requirements—whe archangel, raising
Unto tatic gazing,
Forgets ture of his wings.