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An Interpreter

What, O Eternity,
Is Time to thee?—
What to the boundless All
My portion small?


Lift up thine eyes, my soul!
Against the tidal roll
Stands many a stone,
Whereon the breakers thrown
Are dashed to spray—
Else were the Ocean dumb.


So, in the way
Of tides eternal, thou
Abidest now;
And God himself doth come
A suppliant to thee,
Love's prisoned thought to free.

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