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« All Souls are Mine.”

Ezekiel, xviii. 4.

All souls, O Lord, are Thine; assurance blest!

Thine, not our own to rob of Help Divine; Not man's, to doom by any human test,

But Thine, O gracious Lord, and only Thine!

Surely “the soul that sinneth, it shall die”.

Die to the sin that would its life confine ! Evil shall boast not perpetuity,

Since every soul, however fall'n, is Thine.

Thine, by thy various discipline, to lead

To heights where heavenly truths immortal shine;Truths, none eternally shall fail to heed, For all, O Lord, are Thine, forever Thine.

Forgive the thought, that everlasting ill

To any can be part of Thy design; Finite, imperfect, erring, guilty, - still

All souls, great God, are Thine, - and mercy Thine.

The soul, its own inquisitor, respects

No other claim save that Thy words enshrine; In its serene profundity reflects

No power beyond and over it save Thine.

And Poesy her voice accordant lends

When highest rapture wings her flight divine, Notes of immortal cheer forever blends

With those proclaiming, Lord, all souls are Thine.

“All souls are Mine”! Who shrinks to yield his breath,

Whose child-like faith can on those words recline? Come with thy scourges, Fate! Come, Anguish, Death,

Since God himself hath said; “All souls are Mine”!

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Excursion among the Poets.


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