From ‘The Soul’s Travelling’

    God, God!

    ith a child’s voice I cry,

    eak, sad, confidingly—

    God, God!

    t, eyelids, raised not always up

    Unto thy love (as none of ours are), droop

    As ours, o’er many a tear!

    t, thy universe is broad,

    ttle tears suffice to cover all:

    t, t so prodigal

    Of beauty,  but stricken deer

    Expiring in t care for none

    Of tsome flohey die upon.

    O blissful Mouth

    e name our souls, self-spoilt!—by t strong passion

    strong death

    he wrack

    them back,

    Back to tinuous aspiration!

    For here, O Lord,

    For ravel vainly,—vainly pass

    From city-pavement to untrodden sward,

    in the grass

    Cold  dew. Yea, very vain

    test speed of all these souls of men

    Unless travel upo throne

    test tisfying ONE,

    itings

    For all requirements—whe archangel, raising

    Unto tatic gazing,

    Forgets ture of his wings.