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296 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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THE PLACE OF REST
" The soul is Us own witness and its own refuge "
U
NTO the deep the deep heart goes, It lays its sadness nigh the breast: Only the Mighty Mother knows The wounds that quiver unconfessed.
It seeks a deeper silence still;
It folds itself around with peace, When thoughts alike of good or ill
In quietness unfostered cease.
It feels in the unwounding vast
For comfort for its hopes and fears:
The Mighty Mother bows at last; She listens to her children's tears.
Where the last anguish deepens—there The fire of beauty smites through pain:
A glory moves amid despair,
The Mother takes her child again.
THE THREE COUNSELORS
I
T was the fairy of the place, Moving within a little light, Who touched with dim and shadowy grace The conflict at its fever height.
It seemed to whisper *' Quietness,"
Then quietly itself was gone: Yet echoes of its mute caress
Were with me as the years went on. |
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