3189. SOUL. Dissatisfaction of the THE Soul on earth is an immortal guest A spark, which upwards tends by nature's force; A pilgrim, panting for the rest to come; 3190. SOUL. Efforts for the Ten thousand add, and twice ten thousand more; Then, weigh the whole! One soul outweighs them all, And calls th' astonishing magnificence Of unintelligent creation poor. For this, believe not me; no man believe. Trust not in words, but deeds; and deeds no less Than those of the Supreme.-Young. 3191. SOUL. Freedom of the NOR Stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, 3192. SOUL. Ideas about the One thinks the soul is air; another fire, And to her essence each doth yield a part. Some think one general soul fills every brain, As the bright sun sheds lights in every star; And others think the name of soul is vain, And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, While with their doctrines they at hazard play; Tossing their light opinions to and fro, To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they; For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought, But some among these masters have been found, Which, in their schools, the self-same thing have taught.—Davies, 3193. SOUL. Mistakes of the POOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more; So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men; And, death once dead, there's no more dying then. Shakespeare. 3194. SOUL. Mystery of the Sour, dwelling oft in God's infinitude, And sometimes seeming no more part of meThis me, worms' heritage-than that sun can be Part of the earth he has with warmth imbued,— Whence camest thou? Whither goest thou? I, The ruminant's beatitude-content, subdued With awe of mine own being, thus sit still, Dumb, on the summit of this lonely hill, Whose dry November-grasses dew-bestrew'd Mirror a million suns. That sun, so bright, Passes, as thou must pass, Soul, into night! Art thou afraid, who solitary hast trod A path I know not, from a source to a bourn Both which I know not? fear'st thou to return Alone, even as thou camest alone, to God? D. M. Muloch. 3195. SOUL. Joys of the WITH stammering lips and insufficient sound With octaves of a mystic depth and height, From the dark edges of the sensual ground! Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, And utter all myself into the air. But if I did it, -as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud,-my flesh would perish there, Before that dread apocalypse of soul. Mrs Browning. 3197. SOUL. The: a Bird of Passage. 'My soul is like some eager-born bird, that hath A restless prescience-howsoever wonOf a broad pathway leading to the sun, With promptings of an oft-reproved faith 'In sunward yearnings. Stricken though her breast, And faint her wing, with beating at the bars Of sense, she looks beyond outlying stars, And only in the Infinite sees rest. Sad soul! if ever thy desire be bent Or broken to thy doom, and made to share Chewing the cud of knowledge, with no care For germs of life within-then will I say: 'Thou art not caged, but fitly stall'd in clay!' Emily Pfeiffer. 3198. SOUL. The: a prisoner. In the body's prison so she lies, As through the body's prison she must look, Her divers powers of sense to exercise By gath'ring notes out of the world's great book. Even so the soul in this contracted state, At this hole hears, the sight may ray from thence, Here tastes, there smells; but when she's gone from hence, Like naked lamp, she is one shining sphere, She is one orb of sense; all eye, all touch, all ear. Henry More. Where is the home of that which is gone— Gone from its home, Unseen it pass'd the invisible air. But here is the house. Out of its house How strange it must be! Now to itself, the great mystery, "The intangible thing, that's like nothing we know And away from its house! And a voice cometh low, Murmuring, Some day thou, too, must go.' This is grown to be home-from the near and known Out of this house. Low as it is, From its windows I bound, All I can measure of what is beyond. When I must go too Out of my house? Can I miss the new house In the city impearl'd?— Dreadful abysses past world from world, Valleys of nothingness 'twixt height and height, Terrible blanks in the great Infinite. Think it a birth: and when thou go'st to die, Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss. Davies. Time, that changes all, yet changes us in vain, Dryden. The soul, secure in her existence, smiles It must be so! Plato, thou reason'st well: Or whence this secret dread and inward horror Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nature Of subtler essence than the trodden clod; Room for worlds to go down; where a soul might For human weal, Heaven husbands all events, be toss'd With its anchorage lost, So far from its home! Into Thy house, Lord, take us straight, Lest we be left in the darkness to wait; 3201. SOUL. The immortal. HEAVEN waxeth old, and all the spheres above If she the body's nature did partake, Her strength would with the body's strength decay; But when the body's strongest sinews slake, Then is the soul most active, quick, and gay. Davies. And when thou think'st of her eternity, Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. Young. Our thoughts are boundless, though our frames are frail, Our souls immortal, though our limbs dec1y; The soul, of origin Divine, The sun is but a spark of fire, Shall never die. James Montgomery. 3202. SOUL. The slumbering. WHO is sure he hath a soul, unless It see and judge and follow worthiness, That which was lost in paradise, God to reclaim it did not spare His well-beloved Son; The sins of all in one. The Holy Spirit seal'd the plan, Till flesh and spirit fail? Then let us gather round the cross, 3205. SOWER. The 'SUCH as I have I sow, it is not much,' Said one who loved the Master of the field; Only a quiet word, a gentle touch Upon the hidden harp-strings, which may yield No quick response; I tremble, yet I speak And so the words were spoken, soft and low, 3206. SOWING. Fruits of ARE we sowing seeds of goodness? They shall ripen into wrong. They shall bring forth golden grain. We can never be too careful What the seed our hands shall sow; Hate from hate is sure to grow. 3207. SPEECH. Eloquence of How shall we learn to sway the minds of men phrases, In which you robe your worn-out commonplaces, These filigree ornaments, are good for nothing, THEY miss the truth who meditate that death, These in the saved and lost alike remain 3210. SPLENDOUR. CAN wealth give happiness? look around and see The splendours of our rank and state 3211. STARS. Invocation to the SHINE, ye stars of heaven, On a world of pain! See old Time destroying All our hoarded grain; All our sweetest flowers, Every stately shrine, All our hard-earn'd glory, Every dream divine! Shine, ye stars of heaven, On the rolling years! THE sad and solemn night Has yet her multitude of cheerful fires; Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires : go. Day, too, hath many a star To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they : Unseen, they follow in his flaming way: 3215. STARS. Shining forth of the THEY are all up-the innumerable stars That hold their place in heaven. My eyes have been Searching the pearly depths through which they spring Like beautiful creations.-Willis. 3216. STARS. Suggestiveness of the OH what a confluence of ethereal fires, |