Oh Lord, when all our bones are thrust Beyond the gaze of all but Thine;
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Two souls within this lunar cycle passed Beyond the curtained stage of life and time.
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Hear then of brawn-armed Samuel, Fair-haired and heavy-jaw;
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If the grim Fates, to stave ennui, Play whips for fun, or snares for game,
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If thou, Columbia, dost from this, thy son-- The condor beak and python eyes--recoil,
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From the wide miles of autumn corn, Here to this sun-lit hill,
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Beyond the gates of Hercules The seven builders took the stone,
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You, if it fall to you to take From us the lamp that Athens gave,
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Old pioneers, how fare your souls to-day? They seem to be
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"Get children," says Commodus. Why unbar The portals of the earth? Pre-natal dead
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When conquerors lift the bloody shield, Showing the fallen's ooze of life,
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Alas! he died when swill flowed far and near, While there were other pearls and deeper mud.
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You have become a forge of snow-white fire, A crucible of molten steel, O France!
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Because thou wast most delicate, A woman fair for men to see,
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I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,
And the silence of the city when it pauses,
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In the lust of my strength
I cursed God, but he paid no attention to me:
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The idea danced before us as a flag;
The sound of martial music;
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Did I follow Truth wherever she led,
And stand against the whole world for a cause,
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I began with Sir William Hamilton's lectures.
Then studied Dugald Stewart;
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After a long day of work in my hot-houses
Sleep was sweet, but if you sleep on your left side
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With our hearts like drifting suns, had we but walked,
As often before, the April fields till star-light
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Back and forth, back and forth, to and from the church,
With my Bible under my arm
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There by the window in the old house
Perched on the bluff, overlooking miles of valley,
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To all in the village I seemed, no doubt,
To go this way and that way, aimlessly.
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At four o'clock in late October
I sat alone in the country school-house
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"What will you do when you come to die,
If all your life long you have rejected Jesus,
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Neither spite, fellow citizens,
Nor forgetfulness of the shiftlessness,
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Rhodes' slave! Selling shoes and gingham,
Flour and bacon, overalls, clothing, all day long
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Harry Wilmans! You who fell in a swamp
Near Manila, following the flag,
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Whenever the Presbyterian bell
Was rung by itself, I knew it as the Presbyterian bell.
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