The Mount of Vision: A Book of English Mystic Verse

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Chapman and Hall, 1910 - Mysticism - 159 pages
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Page 30 - And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?
Page 113 - He is made one with Nature : there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird ; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; Which wields the world with never wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.
Page 145 - See the King — I would help him but cannot, the wishes fall through. Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich, To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would — knowing which, I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak through me now ! Would I suffer for him that I love ? So wouldst thou — so wilt thou...
Page 76 - What then I was. The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion : the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colours and their forms, were then to me An appetite ; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest Unborrowed from the eye.
Page 115 - NO coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere : I see Heaven's glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
Page 62 - The One remains, the many change and pass; Heaven's light for ever shines, earth's shadows fly; Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments.
Page 74 - That on a wild secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
Page xiv - The ^Definition of Love MY love is of a birth as rare As 'tis for object strange and high: It was begotten by Despair Upon Impossibility.
Page 66 - God's silent, searching flight; When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all His locks are wet with the clear drops of night; His still, soft call; His knocking time; the soul's dumb watch, When spirits their fair kindred catch.
Page 71 - What soul was his, when, from the naked top Of some bold headland, he beheld the sun Rise up, and bathe the world in light ! He looked — Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth And ocean's liquid mass, beneath him lay In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched, And in their silent faces could he read Unutterable love.

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