قراءة كتاب The World's Best Poetry, Volume 4: The Higher Life

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The World's Best Poetry, Volume 4: The Higher Life

The World's Best Poetry, Volume 4: The Higher Life

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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laws
  Of Order, sins against the Eternal Cause.

* * * * *

    All are but parts of one stupendous whole,
  Whose body Nature is, and God the soul:
  That, changed through all, and yet in all the same;
  Great in the earth as in the ethereal frame;
  Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,
  Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,
  Lives through all life, extends through all extent,
  Spreads undivided, operates unspent:
  Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,
  As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;
  As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,
  As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:
  To him no high, no low, no great, no small;
  He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.
    Cease then, nor order imperfection name:
  Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
  Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree
  Of blindness, weakness, Heaven bestows on thee.
  Submit.—In this or any other sphere,
  Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear;
  Safe in the hand of one disposing Power,
  Or in the natal or the mortal hour.
  All nature is but art unknown to thee;
  All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
  All discord, harmony not understood;
  All partial evil, universal good:
  And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,
  One truth is clear—Whatever is, is right.

* * * * *

    Order is Heaven's first law: and, this confest,
  Some are and must be greater than the rest,
  More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence
  That such are happier, shocks all common-sense.
  Heaven to mankind impartial we confess,
  If all are equal in their happiness:
  But mutual wants this happiness increase;
  All nature's difference keeps all nature's peace.
  Condition, circumstance, is not the thing:
  Bliss is the same in subject or in king,
  In who obtain defence or who defend,
  In him who is or him who finds a friend;
  Heaven breathes through every member of the whole
  One common blessing, as one common soul.

ALEXANDER POPE.

* * * * *

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.

  God moves in a mysterious way
    His wonders to perform;
  He plants His footsteps in the sea,
    And rides upon the storm.

  Deep in unfathomable mines
    Of never-failing skill,
  He treasures up His bright designs,
    And works His sovereign will.

  Ye fearful, fresh courage take!
    The clouds ye so much dread
  Are big with mercy, and shall break
    In blessings on your head.

  Judge not the Lord by feeble sense.
    But trust Him for His grace:
  Behind a frowning providence
    He hides a smiling face.

  His purposes will ripen fast,
    Unfolding every hour;
  The bud may have a bitter taste.
    But sweet will be the flower.

  Blind unbelief is sure to err,
    And scan His work in vain:
  God is His own interpreter,
    And He will make it plain.

WILLIAM COWPER.

* * * * *

GOD.

  O thou eternal One! whose presence bright
    All space doth occupy, all motion guide.
  Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight!
    Thou only God—there is no God beside!
  Being above all beings! Mighty One,
    Whom none can comprehend and none explore!
  Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone—
    Embracing all, supporting, ruling o'er,
    Being whom we call God, and know no more!

  In its sublime research, philosophy
    May measure out the ocean-deep—may count
  The sands or the sun's rays—but, God! for Thee
    There is no weight nor measure; none can mount
  Up to Thy mysteries; Reason's brightest spark,
    Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
  To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark;
    And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
    Even like past moments in eternity.

  Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
    First chaos, then existence—Lord! in Thee
  Eternity had its foundation; all
    Sprung forth from Thee—of light, joy, harmony,
  Sole Origin—all life, all beauty Thine;
    Thy word created all, and doth create;
  Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine;
    Thou art, and wert, and shall be! Glorious! Great!
    Light-giving, life-sustaining potentate!

  Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround—
    Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath!
  Thou the beginning with the end hast bound,
    And beautifully mingled life and death!
  As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze;
    So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from Thee;
  And as the spangles in the sunny rays
    Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
  Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.

  A million torches lighted by Thy hand
    Wander unwearied through the blue abyss—
  They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command,
    All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
  What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light—
    A glorious company of golden streams—
  Lamps of celestial ether burning bright—
    Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams?
  But Thou to these art as the noon to night.

  Yes! as a drop of water in the sea,
    All this magnificence in Thee is lost:—
  What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee?
    And what am I then?—Heaven's unnumbered host,
  Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
    In all the glory of sublimest thought,
  Is but an atom in the balance, weighed
    Against Thy greatness—is a cipher brought
    Against infinity! What am I then? Naught!

  Naught! But the effluence of Thy light divine,
    Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too;
  Yes! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
    As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
  Naught! but I live, and on hope's pinions fly
    Eager towards Thy presence—for in Thee
  I live, and breathe, and dwell, aspiring high,
    Even to the throne of Thy divinity;
    I am, O God! and surely Thou must be!

  Thou art!—directing, guiding all—Thou art!
    Direct my understanding then to Thee;
  Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart;
    Though but an atom midst immensity,
  Still I am something fashioned by Thy hand!
    I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth—
  On the last verge of mortal being stand,
    Close to the realms where angels have their birth,
  Just on the boundaries of the spirit land!

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