Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be: We have but faith: we cannot know; Let knowledge grow from more to more, I 2 16 20 24 28 8 4 I I held it truth, with him who sings But who shall so forecast the years And find in loss a gain to match? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd, Than that the victor Hours should scorn 16 8 541 8 12 16 20 I 2 LVII Behold a man raised up by Christ! 16 Peace; come away: the song of woe 4 XXXII Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face, And rests upon the Life indeed. All subtle thought, all curious fears, Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears. Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale; Yet in these ears, till hearing dies, I hear it now, and o'er and o'er, XCVI I 2 8 12 16 |