John William Inchbold

(1830-1888 / England)

Life’s Words


There is a book wherein we sometimes see
A dim reflection of the face of God;
Awful at times these writings seem to be,
And oft they blossom forth as Aaron's rod,
With flower of tender almond-breathing love,
Such love as mortal of immortal dreams,
And time itself is far too brief to prove,
For though the seasons change, this ever gleams
As an Eternal Will.—But most we find
In this wide book writ by the human soul,
In deeds that last, or music of the mind,
A voice august to man for self-control,
That he may reach the utmost strength of bliss
When hope and deed renew blessed harmonies.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 13, 2010

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