The Diary Of An Old Soul. - February Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: A BCBDCEE FGFGHGH IJKILJM NOOHHNN KMJMJHH PHBHBPP OQOOQOO RHRRHSS THOTOHT JUJVJPP WJJWJXX OOOOOOO YPPYYLL ZA2A2ZOA2O B2OB2PPOO JOJOOJJ OOOOOEE OHQOHQQ JJOOOOO B2SLEESE QQHIIHH WROWRJJ ZJJZJC2C2 OZOHZZH D2ID2E2OOD2 OJJOJJO F2OF2OOOO OHOOHZZ D2OD2OOOO

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I TO myself have neither power nor worthB
Patience nor love nor anything right goodC
My soul is a poor land plenteous in dearthB
Here blades of grass there a small herb for foodD
A nothing that would be something if it couldC
But if obedience Lord in me do growE
I shall one day be better than I knowE
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The worst power of an evil mood is thisF
It makes the bastard self seem in the rightG
Self self the end the goal of human blissF
But if the Christ self in us be the mightG
Of saving God why should I spend my forceH
With a dark thing to reason of the lightG
Not push it rough aside and hold obedient courseH
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Back still it comes to this there was a manI
Who said I am the truth the life the wayJ
Shall I pass on or shall I stop and hearK
Come to the Father but by me none canI
What then is this am I not also oneL
Of those who live in fatherless dismayJ
I stand I look I listen I draw nearM
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My Lord I find that nothing else will doN
But follow where thou goest sit at thy feetO
And where I have thee not still run to meetO
Roses are scentless hopeless are the mornsH
Rest is but weakness laughter crackling thornsH
If thou the Truth do not make them the trueN
Thou art my life O Christ and nothing else will doN
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Thou art here in heaven I know but not from hereK
Although thy separate self do not appearM
If I could part the light from out the dayJ
There I should have thee But thou art too nearM
How find thee walking when thou art the wayJ
Oh present Christ make my eyes keen as stingsH
To see thee at their heart the glory even of thingsH
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That thou art nowhere to be found agreeP
Wise men whose eyes are but for surfacesH
Men with eyes opened by the second birthB
To whom the seen husk of the unseen isH
Descry thee soul of everything on earthB
Who know thy ends thy means and motions seeP
Eyes made for glory soon discover theeP
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Thou near then I draw nearer to thy feetO
And sitting in thy shadow look out on the shineQ
Ready at thy first word to leave my seatO
Not thee thou goest too From every clodO
Into thy footprint flows the indwelling wineQ
And in my daily bread keen eyed I greetO
Its being's heart the very body of GodO
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Thou wilt interpret life to me and menR
Art nature yea my own soul's mysteriesH
Bringing truth out clear joyous to my kenR
Fair as the morn trampling the dull night ThenR
The lone hill side shall hear exultant criesH
The joyous see me joy the weeping weepS
The watching smile as Death breathes on me his cold sleepS
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I search my heart I search and find no faithT
Hidden He may be in its many foldsH
I see him not revealed in all the worldO
Duty's firm shape thins to a misty wraithT
No good seems likely To and fro I am hurledO
I have no stay Only obedience holdsH
I haste I rise I do the thing he saithT
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Thou wouldst not have thy man crushed back to clayJ
It must be God thou hast a strength to giveU
To him that fain would do what thou dost sayJ
Else how shall any soul repentant liveV
Old griefs and new fears hurrying on dismayJ
Let pain be what thou wilt kind and degreeP
Only in pain calm thou my heart with theeP
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I will not shift my ground like Moab's kingW
But from this spot whereon I stand I prayJ
From this same barren rock to thee I sayJ
Lord in my commonness in this very thingW
That haunts my soul with folly through the clayJ
Of this my pitcher see the lamp's dim flakeX
And hear the blow that would the pitcher breakX
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Be thou the well by which I lie and restO
Be thou my tree of life my garden groundO
Be thou my home my fire my chamber blestO
My book of wisdom loved of all the bestO
Oh be my friend each day still newer foundO
As the eternal days and nights go roundO
Nay nay thou art my God in whom all loves are boundO
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Two things at once thou know'st I cannot thinkY
When busy with the work thou givest meP
I cannot consciously think then of theeP
Then why when next thou lookest o'er the brinkY
Of my horizon should my spirit shrinkY
Reproached and fearful nor to greet thee runL
Can I be two when I am only oneL
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My soul must unawares have sunk awryZ
Some care poor eagerness ambition of workA2
Some old offence that unforgiving did lurkA2
Or some self gratulation soft and slyZ
Something not thy sweet will not the good partO
While the home guard looked out stirred up the old murkA2
And so I gloomed away from thee my HeartO
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Therefore I make provision ere I beginB2
To do the thing thou givest me to doO
Praying Lord wake me oftener lest I sinB2
Amidst my work open thine eyes on meP
That I may wake and laugh and know and seeP
Then with healed heart afresh catch up the clueO
And singing drop into my work anewO
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If I should slow diverge and listless strayJ
Into some thought feeling or dream unrightO
O Watcher my backsliding soul affrayJ
Let me not perish of the ghastly blightO
Be thou O Life eternal in me lightO
Then merest approach of selfish or impureJ
Shall start me up alive awake secureJ
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Lord I have fallen again a human clodO
Selfish I was and heedless to offendO
Stood on my rights Thy own child would not sendO
Away his shreds of nothing for the whole GodO
Wretched to thee who savest low I bendO
Give me the power to let my rag rights goE
In the great wind that from thy gulf doth blowE
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Keep me from wrath let it seem ever so rightO
My wrath will never work thy righteousnessH
Up up the hill to the whiter than snow shineQ
Help me to climb and dwell in pardon's lightO
I must be pure as thou or ever lessH
Than thy design of me therefore inclineQ
My heart to take men's wrongs as thou tak'st mineQ
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Lord in thy spirit's hurricane I prayJ
Strip my soul naked dress it then thy wayJ
Change for me all my rags to cloth of goldO
Who would not poverty for riches yieldO
A hovel sell to buy a treasure fieldO
Who would a mess of porridge careful holdO
Against the universe's birthright oldO
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Help me to yield my will in labour evenB2
Nor toil on toil greedy of doing heapS
Fretting I cannot more than me is givenL
That with the finest clay my wheel runs slowE
Nor lets the lovely thing the shapely growE
That memory what thought gives it cannot keepS
And nightly rimes ere morn like cistus petals goE
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'Tis shall thy will be done for me or mineQ
And I be made a thing not after thineQ
My own and dear in paltriest detailsH
Shall I be born of God or of mere manI
Be made like Christ or on some other planI
I let all run set thou and trim my sailsH
Home then my course let blow whatever galesH
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With thee on board each sailor is a kingW
Nor I mere captain of my vessel thenR
But heir of earth and heaven eternal childO
Daring all truth nor fearing anythingW
Mighty in love the servant of all menR
Resenting nothing taking rage and blareJ
Into the Godlike silence of a loving careJ
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I cannot see my God a reason whyZ
From morn to night I go not gladsome freeJ
For if thou art what my soul thinketh theeJ
There is no burden but should lightly lieZ
No duty but a joy at heart must beJ
Love's perfect will can be nor sore nor smallC2
For God is light in him no darkness is at allC2
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'Tis something thus to think and half to trustO
But ah my very heart God born should lieZ
Spread to the light clean clear of mire and rustO
And like a sponge drink the divine sunbeamsH
What resolution then strong swift and highZ
What pure devotion or to live or dieZ
And in my sleep what true what perfect dreamsH
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There is a misty twilight of the soulD2
A sickly eclipse low brooding o'er a manI
When the poor brain is as an empty bowlD2
And the thought spirit weariful and wanE2
Turning from that which yet it loves the bestO
Sinks moveless with life poverty opprestO
Watch then O Lord thy feebly glimmering coalD2
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I cannot think in me is but a voidO
I have felt much and want to feel no moreJ
My soul is hungry for some poorer fareJ
Some earthly nectar gold not unalloyedO
The little child that's happy to the coreJ
Will leave his mother's lap run down the stairJ
Play with the servants is his mother annoyedO
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I would not have it so Weary and wornF2
Why not to thee run straight and be at restO
Motherward with toy new or garment tornF2
The child that late forsook her changeless breastO
Runs to home's heart the heaven that's heavenliestO
In joy or sorrow feebleness or mightO
Peace or commotion be thou Father my delightO
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The thing I would say still comes forth with doubtO
And difference is it that thou shap'st my endsH
Or is it only the necessityO
Of stubborn words that shift sluggish aboutO
Warping my thought as it the sentence bendsH
Have thou a part in it O Lord and IZ
Shall say a truth if not the thing I tryZ
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Gather my broken fragments to a wholeD2
As these four quarters make a shining dayO
Into thy basket for my golden bowlD2
Take up the things that I have cast awayO
In vice or indolence or unwise playO
Let mine be a merry all receiving heartO
But make it a whole with light in every partO

George Macdonald



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