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’T was but a phantom-life
That seemed to think and will, Evolving self and God
By some subjective skill ; That had its day of passage hither, But knew no whence, and knows no whither.
If this be all in all ;
Life but one mode of force; Law but the plan which binds
The sequences in course : All essence, all design
Shut out from mortal ken :-
And drop the style of men!
But if our life be life,
And thought, and will, and love Not vague unconscious airs
That o'er wild harp-strings move;
Of all it seems to be,
Than lights that gleam and flee: Though dark the road that leads us thither, The heart must ask its whence and whither.
To matter or to force
The All is not confined ; Beside the law of things
Is set the law of mind; One speaks in rock and star,
And one within the brain ; In unison at times,
And then apart again : And both in one have brought us hither, That we may know our whence and whither.
WHENCE AND WHITHER.
The sequences of law
We learn through mind alone; 'Tis only through the soul
That aught we know is known :With equal voice she tells
Of what we touch and see
And of a life to be;
O shrine of God that now
Must learn itself with awe!
Beneath a living law !
Of nature, is but part;
Claims also soul and heart.
We may not hope to read
Or comprehend the whole
Or of the law of soul :
Dim perturbations rise ;
Does not exhaust the skies :
He in his science plans
What no known laws foretell ;
Alike are miracle :
The common death of all,
The life renewed above,
Of that all-circling love.
Then, though the sun go up
His beaten azure way,
And bless his world to-day;
The law of mind enthrone,
Reveal himself in one;
FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE.
OUR Lord is risen from the dead,
Our Jesus is gone up on high;
Dragged to the portals of the sky.
There his triumphal chariot waits,
And angels chant the solemn lay!
Ye everlasting doors, give way!
“ Loose all your bars of massy light,
And wide unfold the ethereal scene;
Receive the King of Glory in !”
Who is the King of Glory, who?-
The Lord that all our foes o'ercame :
And Jesus is the Conqueror's name.
Lo! his triumphal chariot waits,
And angels chant the solemn lay;
Ye everlasting doors, give way!"
Who is the King of Glory, who?
The Lord of boundless power possessed ;
READ how, in Gethsemane,
The suffering Saviour bowed the knee :
Through all thy shades, Gethsemane,
I too had my Gethsemane :
And none was by to watch or aid :
And in my own Gethsemane
WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
'IVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staffe of faith to walk upon,
My bottle of salvation,
Blood must be my body's balmer,
Over the silver mountains,
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.