SOME candle clear burns somewhere I come by. | |
I muse at how its being puts blissful back | |
With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black, | |
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye. | |
By that window what task what fingers ply, |
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I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack | |
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack | |
There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.— | |
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Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire | |
Mend first and vital candle in close heart’s vault: |
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You there are master, do your own desire; | |
What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault | |
In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar | |
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt? |
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