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better bliss born brain breath brother child Christ comes dark dear death divine door doth doubt draw dream earth eternal eyes face fair faith fall Father fear feel fire foolish give God's grow hand heart heaven hold holy hope human infinite keep know thee leave less light live look Lord love's master mean meet mind morn nearer never night o'er pain peace perfect poor pray prayer presence pure rest rise round rush seek seems shine sink sleep slow Sometimes song sore soul spirit stand straight strange Sure sweet thee thine things thou art thou dost thou hast Thou wilt thought thy feet true trust truth turn wake weary wilt wind wings wrong
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!