...makest thine appeal to me: I hring to life, I hring to death : The spirit does hnt mean the hreath: I know no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Snch splendid pnrpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who hnilt...

...type ? ' but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, 'A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. ' Thou makest thine appeal...no more.' And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...

...? ' but no ; From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, ' A thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. " ' Thou makest thine appeal...in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, " Who trusted God was love indeed, And love Creation's final...

...type ?" but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, ' ' A thousand types are gone I care for nothing, all shall go. "Thou makest thine appeal...no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such spendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who b'uilt...

...type?" but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, "A thousand types are gone: I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal...bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath : ] know no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose...

...translating itself into consciousness. If the theory of Automatism is true, it follows that " Man, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, (fruitless indeed !) Who loved, who suffered countless ills,...

...billows of his green graves, and end the fight by making my own creed good once, for all that Man, God's last work, who seemed so fair. Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalms in wintry skies, Who built him fanes for fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed,...

...billows of his green graves, and end the fight by making my own creed good once, for all that Man, God's last work, who seemed so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalms in winlry skies, Who built him fanes for fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed,...

...billows of his green graves, and end the fight by making my own creed good once, for all that Man, God's last work, who seemed so fair. Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who rolled the psalms in wintry skies, Who built him fanes for fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed,...

...type ? " but no. From scarped cliff and quarried stone She cries, " A thousand types are gone : I care for nothing, all shall go. " Thou makest thine appeal...no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built...