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 | Zóphiël ; or, the bride of seven |  |
XI.
Yet, not perverted, would my words imply
The impulse given by heaven's great Artisan,
Alike to man and worm, mere spring, whereby
The distant wheels of life, while time endures, roll on,
The impulse given by heaven's great Artisan,
Alike to man and worm, mere spring, whereby
The distant wheels of life, while time endures, roll on,
But the collective attributes that fill
About the soul their all-important place;
That feed her fires, empower her fainting will,
And write the God on feeble mortal's face.
About the soul their all-important place;
That feed her fires, empower her fainting will,
And write the God on feeble mortal's face.
| Zóphiël ; or, the bride of seven | |