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Rh Of ampler draught. These crowds are very good For meditation, (when we are very strong) Though love of beauty makes us timorous, And draws us backward from the coarse town-sights To count the daisies upon dappled fields, And hear the streams bleat on among the hills In innocent and indolent repose; While still with silken elegiac thoughts We wind out from us the distracting world, And die into the chrysalis of a man, And leave the best that may, to come of us In some brown moth. Be, rather, bold, and bear To look into the swarthiest face of things, For God’s sake who has made them.

Seven days’ work; The last day shutting ’twixt its dawn and eve, The whole work bettered, of the previous six! Since God collected and resumed in man The firmaments, the strata, and the lights, Fish, fowl, and beast, and insect,—all their trains Of various life caught back upon His arm, Reorganised, and constituted MAN, The microcosm, the adding up of works; Within whose fluttering nostrils, then at last, Consummating Himself, the Maker sighed, As some strong winner at the foot race sighs Touching the goal. Humanity is great;