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II.
[O that my soul might from his living tongue]
O that my soul might from his living tongueDrink wisdom! that I might my ears rejoice
With the deep teachings of that far-off voice
Upon whose precious utterances have hung
Such souls uncounted—from whose breath have sprung
Lives that make angels gladden. Many a choice,
'Twixt sin and pureness hath that loftiest voice
Fixed for the holiest. High his wrath hath rung
O'er the poor tumult of abounding wrong
And evil multitudinous, and, bright
As the white lightning, hath scorched down the strong
And blustering sinfulness that, not in night
Cowered from high God, but thrust and brawled along
In noon's clear brightness, and in all men's sight.
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