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Thou whose deep ways are in the sea, Whose footsteps are not known, To-night a world that turned from Thee Is waiting - at Thy Throne.The towering Babels that we raised Where scoffing sophists brawl, The little Antichrists we praised - The night is on them all.
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Memory, out of the mist, in a long slow rippleBreaks, blindly, against the shore.
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'He is dead,' we cried, and even amid that gloomThe wintry veil was rent! The new-born dayShowed us the Angel seated in the tombAnd the stone rolled away.
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Beauty is a fading flower, Truth is but a wizard's tower, Where a solemn death-bell tolls, And a forest round it rolls.
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Once more I hear the everlasting seaBreathing beneath the mountain's fragrant breast
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Never since Drake and Raleigh wonOur freedom of the seas,Have sons of Britain dared and doneMore valiantly than these.
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They wouldn't mourn for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin. Put away your muskets, lay aside the drum, Hang it by the wooden sword we made for little Peterkin!
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The Flower of Old Japan. The Flower above all other flowers, The Flower that never dies; Before whose throne the scented hours Offer their sacrifice; The Flower that here on earth below Reveals the heavenly plan; But only little children know The Flower of Old Japan.
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The fool hath said … The fool hath said And we, who deemed him wise, We, who believed that Thou wast dead, How should we seek Thine eyes?How should we seek to Thee for power, Who scorned Thee yesterday? How should we kneel in this dread hour? Lord, teach us how to pray.
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A shadow leaned over me, whispering, in the darkness,Thoughts without sound; Sorrowful thoughts that filled me with helpless wonder And held me bound.
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Your dreamers may dream it The shadow of a dream, Your sages may deem it A bubble on the stream; Yet our kingdom draweth nigher With each dawn and every day, Through the earthquake and the fire 'Love will find out the way.'