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LIV. LV The wish, that of the living whole
No life may fail beyond the grave,
Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul ?
I hear it now, and o'er and o'er,
Eternal greetings to the dead ;
And “Ave, Ave, Ave," said, "Adieu, adieu," forevermore.
Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life;
That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear,
Like echoes in sepulchral halls,
As drop by drop the water falls In vaults and catacombs, they fell; And, falling, idly broke the peace
of hearts that beat from day to day,
Half conscious of their dying clay, And those cold crypts where they shall cease. The high Moise answer'd: “Wherefore grieve
Thy brethren with a fruitless tear ?
Abide a little longer here,
LIX O SORROW, wilt thou live with me,
No casual mistress, but a wife,
My bosom-friend and half of life; As I confess it needs must be;
I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God,
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dast and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope.
LVI "So careful of the type !" but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, “A thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go.
O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood,
Be sometimes lovely like a bride.
And put thy harsher moods aside, If thou wilt have me wise and good.