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Wished overhaste and awkward stroke
To all the devils faring.
At first I raged, then every bit
Picked up with sad endeavor;
God, touched at that, created it
Afresh, as good as ever.

The pearl which from the muscle ran,
High-born and debonair,

Spake to the jeweler, "Good man,
I an undone, oh, spare!

"Dost bore me through, my beauteous glance
Is straight for ever shattered;
And I must take my evil chance
With sisters to be fettered."

"I'm only thinking now of gain;
Your pardon, I entreat it,
For if I do not give you pain

My string is not completed."

I saw, amazed and glad together,
In the Koran lying a peacock's feather:
Of things created first in grace

Be welcome in the holy place!

Thou teachest what the heavens sing,

God's greatness in the smallest thing;

Since He, who overlooks on high

The worlds, hath here impressed His eye,
And to this down such glory brings,
The bird rebukes the pride of kings.
Dost woo thy fame with modesty,
No place too holy is for thee.

Two treasurers a monarch had,
One for taking, one for spending :

To such unthrift this one was tending,
The other found the taking trade was sad.
The ruler pondered when the spender died
To whom the giving power he should confide;
But scarce could he consider who
Than monstrous rich the taker grew;
When for a day one ceased to give,
For gold the people scarce could live.
Then to the monarch first 'twas plain
How every mischief hatches gain:
Of that good chance he made the most,
And never filled the spender's post.

The new pot to the kettle said,
"Thy belly has a smutty look!"
"It is because I serve the cook.
Snick up, snick up, thou ninnyhead,
An end there 'll soon be to thy story:

So don't because the handle 's clean Go strutting in that conceited mien, But look at thyretiring glory.'"

All the people, great and small,
Spin a web against the wall;
With nippers anxious for a bit
Right smartly in the midst they sit.
A broom comes travelling into it :
Unheard of outrage — they exclaim,
Greatest of palaces! What a shame!

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From heaven descending, Jesus brought The holy Writ's eternal thought.

To his disciples day and night

He read the Word that works with might,
Then took it back the way it came.
But they had rightly caught its aim,
So, step by step, each one declared
The way its sense within them fared,
Each different. That's of no account,
In wit they varied and amount;
Yet Christians find in it to stay
Their hunger till the judgment-day.


In Paradise by moonlight spied
The Lord his Adam sunk in sleep,
Drew near, and softly by his side

He placed an Eve in slumber deep.
In limits of the clay expressed,
God's two divinest thoughts there rest.
'Tis good! He cried, the skill to pay,
And scarce could tear himself away.

No wonder that the spell is fine
When eyes do first to eyes incline,
As if the glances went so far

We came to Him whose thoughts we are.
And does He call us be it so !

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Only, I bargain, both shall go.

The limits of these arms enfold

Thee, dearest thought God ever told.

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