THERE is a world where struggle and stern toil Are all the nurture of the soul of man -- Ordain'd to raise from life's ungrateful soil, Pain as he must, and Pleasure as he can. Then to that other world of thought from this Turns the sad soul, all hopeful of repose, But round in weirdest metamorphosis, False shapes and true, divine and devilish, close. Above these two, and resting upon each A meditative and compassionate eye, Broodeth the Spirit of God: thence evermore, On those poor wanderers cast from shore to shore, Falleth a voice, omnipotent to teach Them that will hear, -- "Despair not! it is I." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MIDSUMMER FROST (1) by ISAAC ROSENBERG MOTHER NATURE by EMILY DICKINSON A LOVE SONG by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR FABLE: THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL by RALPH WALDO EMERSON LINES TO THE MEMORY OF ANNIE WHO DIED AT MILAN, JUNE 6, 1860 by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 6. SPRING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM COMMENDATORY VERSES TO MASSINGER'S PLAY, 'THE BONDMAN' by WILLIAM BASSE |