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Sonnets

By Emily Pfeiffer: Revised and Enlarged Ed.

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97

I.THE SOUL'S PRAYER.

OUR souls are natives of the Infinite,
And learn with toil to breathe the air of Time;
Our early loves and sorrows are sublime
In sense of durance and unfettered might.
Kind Nature take us, weary ere the night
As children are, and from this alien clime
Shelter, and let us dream its morning prime
Fans our worn spirits with its fresh delight.
But if the scorner Time that makes our woe
Prove very lord of us, then on thy breast
Quell once for all this feverish thirst to know,
This hungry love, the traitor's bitterest jest;
End on thy mother's heart these pangs too slow
To kill; let sleep be death since that is best.

98

II.THE SOUL'S PRIDE.

AND, mother, if nor sleep nor death may be
Till, slaves of Time, we drain his poisoned cup,
Still let no lifeless images set up
Perturb our sinking soul's long agony.
Gods without hearing, gods that cannot see,
Are idols all; how to the reckless troop
Of science and its forces should we stoop
To worship who can suffer and be free?
Needless cold altars plead against these new
Unheeding Baals for Him quick hearts approve
With answering fire; the soul that knows her due
Holds herself lifted high as heaven above
All heartless postulates, if only through
The power to feel one pang of dying love.