 | Lyrics (1895) |  |
24
NOVEMBER
What makes my life so cold a thing,
That shivers under generous suns?
A bird upon a tortured wing,
That runs and rises, falls and runs;
That shivers under generous suns?
A bird upon a tortured wing,
That runs and rises, falls and runs;
That suffers, and reluctant learns
What mean the scourge, the brandished rod;
That turns to sweetness and returns,
Forgetful of the frown of God.
What mean the scourge, the brandished rod;
That turns to sweetness and returns,
Forgetful of the frown of God.
I know a certain shadow sits
Beside me, when I work or pray,
That beats a filmy wing, and flits
Dishonoured in the eye of day.
Beside me, when I work or pray,
That beats a filmy wing, and flits
Dishonoured in the eye of day.
25
An eager soul that looks beyond,
And scans the other side of bliss;
That says, she would not need despond
If that were otherwise, and this;
And scans the other side of bliss;
That says, she would not need despond
If that were otherwise, and this;
So should the chemist nicely poise
His tremulous scales to test and weigh
The moon's thin light, the torrent's noise,
And rage against the Eternal Nay.
His tremulous scales to test and weigh
The moon's thin light, the torrent's noise,
And rage against the Eternal Nay.
| Lyrics (1895) | |