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— William Blake

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit?

Or wilt thou go ask the Mole:

Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod?

Or Love in a golden bowl?

…

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noun

One who, or that which, accelerates.

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THE WORLD'S TRIUMPHS

77 lines
Matthew Arnold·1822–1888
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o far as I conceive the world's rebukeTo him address'd who would recast her new,Not from herself her fame of strength she took,But from their weakness who would work her rue. "Behold," she cries, "so many rages lull'd,So many fiery spirits quite cool'd down;Look how so many valours, long undull'd,After short commerce with me, fear my frown! "Thou too, when thou against my crimes wouldst cry,Let thy foreboded homage check thy tongue!"--The world speaks well; yet might her foe reply:"Are wills so weak?--then let not mine wait long! "Hast thou so rare a poison?--let me beKeener to slay thee, lest thou poison me!" STAGIRIUS[3] Thou, who dost dwell alone--Thou, who dost know thine own--Thou, to whom all are knownFrom the cradle to the grave--Save, oh! save.From the world's temptations,From tribulations,From that fierce anguishWherein we languish,From that torpor deepWherein we lie asleep,Heavy as death, cold as the grave,Save, oh! save. When the soul, growing clearer,Sees God no nearer;When the soul, mounting higher,To God comes no nigher;But the arch-fiend PrideMounts at her side,Foiling her high emprise,Sealing her eagle eyes,And, when she fain would soar,Makes idols to adore,Changing the pure emotionOf her high devotion,To a skin-deep senseOf her own eloquence;Strong to deceive, strong to enslave--Save, oh! save. From the ingrain'd fashionOf this earthly natureThat mars thy creature;From grief that is but passion,From mirth that is but feigning,From tears that bring no healing,From wild and weak complaining,Thine old strength revealing,Save, oh! save.From doubt, where all is double;Where wise men are not strong,Where comfort turns to trouble,Where just men suffer wrong;Where sorrow treads on joy,Where sweet things soonest cloy,Where faiths are built on dust,Where love is half mistrust,Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea--Oh! set us free.O let the false dream fly,Where our sick souls do lieTossing continually!O where thy voice doth comeLet all doubts be dumb,Let all words be mild,All strifes be reconciled,All pains beguiled!Light bring no blindness,Love no unkindness,Knowledge no ruin,Fear no undoing!From the cradle to the grave,Save, oh! save.
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