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Toward making, than repose on aught All men ignored in me,
So, better, age, exempt
Ay, note that Potter's wheel,
Enough now, the Right
Why time spins fast, why passive lies our
And Good and Infinite
Be named here, as thou callest thy hand When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!"
This I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.
With knowledge absolute,
From fools that crowded youth, nor let Fool! All that is, at all,
thee feel alone.
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure:
Be there, for once and all,
What entered into thee,
Severed great minds from small,
Was I, the world arraigned,
Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure.
Not on the vulgar mass
Called "work," must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price;
O'er which, from level stand,
He fixed thee mid this dance
Of plastic circumstance,
This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest:
Now, who shall arbitrate?
Machinery just meant
To give thy soul its bent,
Shun what I follow, slight what I re- Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently
Ten, who in ears and eyes
Match me: we all surmise,
What though the earlier grooves
They, this thing, and 1, that: whom shall Which ran the laughing loves
my soul believe?
Around thy base, no longer pause and
What though, about thy rim,
Grow out, in graver mood, obey the
The low world laid its hand,
Found straightway to its mind, could To uses of a cup,
value in a trice:
Look not thou down, but up!
The festal board, lamp's flash, and trumpet's peal,
But all, the world's coarse thumb
The new wine's foaming flow,
And finger failed to plumb,
So passed in making up the main account; Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what
That weighed not as his work, yet swelled But I need, now as then,
the man's amount:
Thee, God, who mouldest men;
And since, not even while the whirl was
Thoughts hardly to be packed
Into a narrow act,
Bound dizzily mistake my end, to
slake Thy thirst: