The Biography of Robert Murray M'Cheyne by Andrew A. Bonar
page 10 of 243 (04%)
page 10 of 243 (04%)
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That glowed conspicuous on the blessed face
Of him thou fain wouldst imitate--to bind Down to the fragile canvas the wild play Of thought and mild affection, which were wont To dwell in the serious eye, and play around The placid mouth. Thou seek'st to give again That which the burning soul, inhabiting Its clay-built tenement, alone can give-- To leave on cold dead matter the impress Of living mind--to bid a line, a shade, Speak forth, not words, but the soft intercourse Which the immortal spirit, while on earth It tabernacles, breathes from every pore-- Thoughts not converted into words, and hopes, And fears, and hidden joys, and griefs, unborn Into the world of sound, but beaming forth In that expression which no words, or work Of cunning artist, can express. In vain, Alas! in vain! Come hither, Painter; come, Take up once more thine instruments--thy brush And palette--if thy haughty art be, as thou say'st, Omnipotent, and if thy hand can dare To wield creative power. Renew thy toil, And let my memory, vivified by love, Which Death's cold separation has but warmed And rendered sacred dictate to thy skill, And guide thy pencil. From the jetty hair Take off that gaudy lustre that but mocks The true original; and let the dry, |
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