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Untitled Article
So I passed through the temple ; and to me Knelt troops of shadows ; and they cried , " Hail , king f " We serve thee now , and thou shalt serve no more ! ' * Call on us , prove us , let us worship thee !"
And I said , " Are ye strong—Jet fancy bear me 44 Far from the past . "—And 1 was borne away As Arab birds float sleeping in the wind , O ' er deserts , towers , and forests , I being calm ; And I said , " I have nursed up energies ,
" They will prey on me / ' And a band knelt low , And cried , " . Lord , we are here , and we will make 44 A way for thee—in thine * appointed life 44 O 1 o < 5 k on us !' And I said , 4 * Ye will worship 44 Me ; but my heart must worship too / ' They shouted , 44 Thyself—thou art our king ! " So I stood there Smiling' ******
This state ,, which every superior mind has probably been in , and which has endured through the whole existence of some extraordinary men—Voltaire for instance ; is described through several pages , with its various incidents , fluctuations , and modifications , until the moral power shows its returning life by a feeling of
irritable dissatisfaction , a longing after higher good , and a sense of capacity for its enjoyment . There is a groping about after something to rest upon ; a vain attempt to cherish delusion and prejudice , rather than be left utterly loveless ; and at length the soul throws itself upon religion , like a hunted bird dropping into its own nest .
4 God ! where does this tend—these struggling aims ! What would I have ? what is this " sleep , " which seems To bound all ? can there be a waking" point Of crowning life ? The soul would never rule—It would be first in all things—it would have Its utmost pleasure filled , —but that complete Commanding for commanding sickens it . The last point that I can trace is , rest beneath Some better essence than itself—in weakness ;
This is myself "—not what I think should be , And what is that I hung-er for but God ? My God , my God ! let me for once look on thee As though naught else existed : we alone . And as creation crumbles , my soul's spark
Expands till I can say , Even from myself 44 I need thee , and I feel thee , and I love thee ; * I do not plead my rapture in thy works 44 For love of thee—or that I feel as one 44 Who cannot die—but there is that in me 44 Which turns to thee , which loves , or which should love . " 4 Why have I girt myself with this hell-dress 7 Why have I laboured to put out my life ?
Untitled Article
Pauline , 357
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Citation
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Monthly Repository (1806-1838) and Unitarian Chronicle (1832-1833), April 2, 1833, page 257, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/mruc/issues/vm2-ncseproduct2612/page/41/
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