A Book of Strife in the Form of the Diary of an Old Soul

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Page 1 - A BOOK OF STRIFE, IN THE FORM OF THE DIARY OF AN OLD SOUL: Poems.
Page 145 - Too eager I must not be to understand. How should the work the master goes about Fit the vague sketch my compasses have planned? I am his house - for him to go in and out. He builds me now - and if I cannot see At any time what he is doing with me, Tis that he makes the house for me too grand.
Page 41 - Tis — shall thy will be done for me — or mine, And I be made a thing not after thine — My own, and dear in paltriest details? Shall I be born of God, or of mere man? Be made like Christ, or on some other plan? I let all run — set thou and trim my sails; Home then my course, let blow whatever gales.
Page 203 - Thou workest perfectly. And if it seem Some things are not so well, 'tis but because They are too loving-deep, too lofty-wise, For me, poor child, to understand their laws: My highest wisdom half is but a dream; My love runs helpless like a falling stream: Thy good embraces ill, and lo, its illness dies!

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