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A Book of Strife in the Form of The Diary of an Old Soul

Library of Alexandria
JANUARY. 1. LORD, what I once had done with youthful might, Had I been from the first true to the truth, Grant me, now old, to do—with better sight, And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth; So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth, Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain, Round to his best—young eyes and heart and brain. 2. A dim aurora rises in my east, Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar, As if the head of our intombed High Priest Began to glow behind the unopened door: Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the gray!— They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more, To meet the slow coming of the Master’s day