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Rh I held in reverence. If he strained too wide, It was not to take honour, but give help; The gesture was heroic. If his hand Accomplished nothing. . (well, it is not proved) That empty hand thrown impotently out Were sooner caught, I think, by One in heaven, Than many a hand that reaped a harvest in And keeps the scythe’s glow on it. Pray you, then, For my sake merely, use less bitterness In speaking of my cousin.’ ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘Aurora! when the prophet beats the ass, The angel intercedes.’ He shook his head— ‘And yet to mean so well, and fail so foul, Expresses ne’er another beast than man; The antithesis is human. Harken, dear; There’s too much abstract willing, purposing, In this poor world. We talk by aggregates, And think by systems; and, being used to face Our evils in statistics, are inclined To cap them with unreal remedies Drawn out in haste on the other side the slate.’

‘That’s true,’ I answered, fain to throw up thought And make a game of’t; ‘Oh, we generalise Enough to please you. If we pray at all, We pray no longer for our daily bread, But next centenary’s harvests. If we give, Our cup of water is not tendered till We lay down pipes and found a Company