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Full Online Book HomePoemsThou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend
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Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend Post by :imsharons Category :Poems Author :Gerard Manley Hopkins Date :August 2011 Read :3219

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Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend

Justus quidem tu es, Domine, si disputem tecum: verumtamen justa loquar ad te: Quare via impiorum prosperatur? &c.

THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners' ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?

Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now, leaved how thick! laced they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build--but not I build; no, but strain,
Time's eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.

(The end)
Gerard Manley Hopkins's poem: Thou Art Indeed Just, Lord, If I Contend

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To R. B. To R. B.

To R. B.
THE fine delight that fathers thought; the strongSpur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame,Breathes once and, quenched faster than it came,Leaves yet the mind a mother of immortal song.Nine months she then, nay years, nine years she longWithin her wears, bears, cares and moulds the same:The widow of an insight lost she lives, with aimNow known and hand at work now never wrong. Sweet fire the sire of muse, my soul needs this;I want the one rapture of an inspiration.O then if in my lagging lines you missThe roll, the rise, the carol, the creation,My winter world, that

In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother Of The Society Of Jesus In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother Of The Society Of Jesus

In Honour Of St. Alphonsus Rodriguez Laybrother Of The Society Of Jesus
HONOUR is flashed off exploit, so we say;And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shieldShould tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.On Christ they do and on the martyr may;But be the war within, the brand we wieldUnseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray. Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)Could crowd career with conquest while there wentThose years and years by of world without eventThat in Majorca Alfonso