The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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| II. |
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
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| IV. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
43
V.
Something is left: to love and wrestle on
Beneath the soulless glaring loveless sky;
To toil and bleed and suffer, till we die
When the swift circle of our years hath gone.
Sweet selfless love at least is not a lie;
Love hath its own eternal Godhead still,
And we may live as Gods through might of will
And mix our souls with all thoughts pure and high.
Beneath the soulless glaring loveless sky;
To toil and bleed and suffer, till we die
When the swift circle of our years hath gone.
Sweet selfless love at least is not a lie;
Love hath its own eternal Godhead still,
And we may live as Gods through might of will
And mix our souls with all thoughts pure and high.
Strength is in Man, if Man created God
And through his own thought wove the awful Name
And reared God's great grand palace on earth's sod
And ringed it round with hell's red guardian flame:—
Strength is in Man,—and he with fire is shod
And he the earth's wide fruitful fields may claim.
And through his own thought wove the awful Name
And reared God's great grand palace on earth's sod
And ringed it round with hell's red guardian flame:—
Strength is in Man,—and he with fire is shod
And he the earth's wide fruitful fields may claim.
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |