. The autocrat of the breakfast-table : every man his own Boswell. iding reinsBy myriad rings in trembling chains,Each graven with the threaded zoneWhich claims it as the masters own. OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 213 See how yon beam of seeming whiteIs braided out of seven-hued light,•Yet in those lucid globes no rayBy any chance shall break how the rolling surge of sound,Arches and spirals circling round,Wakes the hushed spirit through thine earWith music it is heaven to hear. Then mark the cloven sphere that holdsAll thought in its mysterious folds,That feels sensations faintest thril
. The autocrat of the breakfast-table : every man his own Boswell. iding reinsBy myriad rings in trembling chains,Each graven with the threaded zoneWhich claims it as the masters own. OF THE BREAKFAST-TABLE. 213 See how yon beam of seeming whiteIs braided out of seven-hued light,•Yet in those lucid globes no rayBy any chance shall break how the rolling surge of sound,Arches and spirals circling round,Wakes the hushed spirit through thine earWith music it is heaven to hear. Then mark the cloven sphere that holdsAll thought in its mysterious folds,That feels sensations faintest thrillAnd flashes forth the sovereign will;Think on the stormy world that dwellsLocked in its dim and clustering cells !The lightning gleams of power it shedsAlong its hollow glassy threads ! O Father ! grant thy love divineTo make these mystic temples thine !When wasting age and wearying strifeHave sapped the leaning walls of life,When darkness gathers over all,And the last tottering pillars fall,Take the poor dust thy mercy warmsAnd mould it into heavenly forms !.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1865
