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Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852

"The Complete Poems of Sir Thomas Moore Collected by Himself with Explanatory Notes"


Humility, that low, sweet root,
From which all heavenly virtues shoot,
Was in the hearts of both--but most
In NAMA'S heart, by whom alone
Those charms, for which a heaven was lost.
Seemed all unvalued and unknown;
And when her Seraph's eyes she caught,
And hid hers glowing on his breast,
Even bliss was humbled by the thought--
"What claim have I to be so blest"?
Still less could maid, so meek, have nurst
Desire of knowledge--that vain thirst,
With which the sex hath all been curst
From luckless EVE to her who near
The Tabernacle stole to hear
The secrets of the Angels: no--
To love as her own Seraph loved,
With Faith, the same thro' bliss and woe--
Faith that were even its light removed,
Could like the dial fixt remain
And wait till it shone out again;--
With Patience that tho' often bowed
By the rude storm can rise anew;
And Hope that even from Evil's cloud
See sunny Good half breaking thro'!
This deep, relying Love, worth more
In heaven than all a Cherub's lore--
This Faith more sure than aught beside
Was the sole joy, ambition, pride
Of her fond heart--the unreasoning scope
Of all its views, above, below--
So true she felt it that to _hope_,
To _trust_, is happier than to _know_.
And thus in humbleness they trod,
Abasht but pure before their God;
Nor e'er did earth behold a sight
So meekly beautiful as they,
When with the altar's holy light
Full on their brows they knelt to pray,
Hand within hand and side by side,
Two links of love awhile untied
From the great chain above, but fast
Holding together to the last!--
Two fallen Splendors from that tree[19]
Which buds with such eternally,
Shaken to earth yet keeping all
Their light and freshness in the fall.


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