No Coward Soul is Mine

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heavens glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

O God within my breast.
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life — that in me has rest,
As I — Undying Life — have power in Thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move mens hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast Rock of immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou — Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

Emily Brontës siste dikt før hun døde av tæring i 1848.

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One Response to No Coward Soul is Mine

  1. einar says:

    litt pÃ¥ siden av temaet, men jeg kan opplyse om at “gardin-versjonen” av giuseppes rekviem er bra, ja. men det vet du vel fra før. jeg synes det er noen smÃ¥ting her og der som jeg kunne tenkt meg litt justert, men det er ikke noe alvorlig.

    ikke som jeg har oppdaget til nå, iallfall!

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