Poems By Edward Dowden |
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II. THEISTS
Who needs God most? That man whose pulses playWith fullest life-blood; he whose foot dare climb
To Joy's high limit, solitude sublime
Under a sky whose splendour sure must slay
If Godless; he who owns the sovereign sway
Of that small inner voice and still, what time
His whole life urges toward one blissful crime,
88
It is he whose faithfulness of love puts by
Time's anodyne, and that gross palliative,
A Stoic pride, and bears all humanly;
He whose soul grows one long desire to give
Measureless gifts; ah! let him quickly die
Unless he lift frail hands to God and live.
Poems | ||