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There is no wind but soweth seeds
Of a more true and open life, Which burst, unlooked-for, into high-souled deeds,
With wayside beauty rife.
We find within these souls of ours
Some wild germs of a higher birth,
Whose fragrance fills the earth.
These promises of wider bliss,
In sunny hours like this.
In life or death, since time began, Is native in the simple heart of all,
The angel heart of man.
And thus, among the untaught poor,
Great deeds and feelings find a home, That cast in shadow all the golden lore
Of classic Greece and Rome.
O, mighty brother-soul of man,
Where'er thou art, in low or high,
begin Deep down within the primitive soul, And from the many slowly upward win
To one who grasps the whole :
In his wide brain the feeling deep
Swells to a tide of thought, whose surges leap
O'er the weak thrones of wrong.
All thought begins in feeling,—wide
In the great mass its base is hid,
A moveless pyramid.
That every hope, which rises and grows broad In the world's heart, by ordered impulse streams
From the great heart of God.
God wills, man hopes : in common souls
A blessing to his kind.
Never did Poesy appear
So full of heaven to me, as when I saw how it would pierce through pride and fear
To the lives of coarsest men.
It may be glorious to write
Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight
Once in a century ;
But better far it is to speak
One simple word, which now and then Shall waken their free nature in the weak
And friendless sons of men ;
To write some earnest verse or line,
Which, seeking not the praise of art,
He who doth this, in verse or prose,
May be forgotten in his day, But surely shall be crowned at last with those
Who live and speak for aye. 1842.
God sends his teachers unto every age,
There is an instinct in the human heart Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, To justify the reign of its belief And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful hands, Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. For, as in nature naught is made in vain, But all things have within their hull of use A wisdom and a meaning which may speak Of spiritual secrets to the ear Of spirit; so, in whatsoe'er the heart Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, To make its inspirations suit its creed, And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring Its needful food of truth, there ever is A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light And earnest parables of inward lore.
Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece,
A youth named Rhæcus, wandering in the wood,
Then Rhæcus, with a flutter at the heart, Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, Answered : # What is there that can satisfy