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Leaves of grass. | ||
2
Consolator most mild, the promis'd one advancing,
With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I,
Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt proph- ecies and poems;
From this side, lo! the Lord CHRIST gazes — lo! Hermes I — lo! mine is Hercules' face;
All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself;
Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and crucified — and many times shall be again;
All the world have I given up for my dear brothers' and sisters' sake — for the soul's sake;
Wending my way through the homes of men, rich or
poor, with
the kiss of affection;
For I am affection — I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, and all-enclosing Charity;
(Conqueror yet — for before me all the armies and soldiers of the earth shall yet bow — and all the weapons of war become impotent:)
With indulgent words, as to children — with fresh and sane words, mine only;
Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my- self to an early death:
But my Charity has no death — my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late,
And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies.
With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I,
Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt proph- ecies and poems;
From this side, lo! the Lord CHRIST gazes — lo! Hermes I — lo! mine is Hercules' face;
All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself;
Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and crucified — and many times shall be again;
All the world have I given up for my dear brothers' and sisters' sake — for the soul's sake;
16b
For I am affection — I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, and all-enclosing Charity;
(Conqueror yet — for before me all the armies and soldiers of the earth shall yet bow — and all the weapons of war become impotent:)
With indulgent words, as to children — with fresh and sane words, mine only;
Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my- self to an early death:
But my Charity has no death — my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late,
And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies.
Leaves of grass. | ||